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IBodka  by 

HUGH  WYNNE. 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  FRANCOIS. 

HEPHZIBAH  GUINNESS. 

IN  WAR  TIME. 

ROLAND  BLAKE. 

FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

CHARACTERISTICS. 

WHEN  ALL  THE  WOODS  ARE  GREEN. 

A  MADEIRA  PARTY. 


DOCTOR  AND  PATIENT. 
WEAR  AND  TEAR— HINTS  FOR  THE 
OVERWORKED. 

COLLECTED  POEMS. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST 


H  5tor£ 


BY 

S.  WEIR  MITCHELL 

M.  D.,  LL.  D.  (HARVARD) 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO 

1898 

Copyright,  1889,  1898,  by 
S.  Weir  Mitchell,  M.  D. 


The  de  vinne  press. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Very  many  years  before  the  great  war,  the  forest 
counties  of  Northern  Pennsylvania  which  border 
on  New  York  and  are  watered  by  the  Alleghany, 
Sinneraahoning,  and  Clarion  were  vast  forest-lands, 
little  disturbed  as  yet  by  the  axe  or  the  plough. 
Roads  were  few  and  bad.  Railways  were  un- 
known. Here  and  there  a  primitive  mill,  driven 
by  water-power,  sawed  out  the  planks  needed  for 
a  scant  and  widely-scattered  population.  In  the 
winter  lumbering-parties  were  busy  near  the  greater 
streams,  and  in  the  spring  a  few  rafts  found  their 
way  down  to  the  Ohio  or  on  the  other  side  of  the 
"  divide"  to  the  Susquehanna. 

Along  the  rivers,  at  rare  intervals,  a  log  cabin, 
and,  still  farther  apart,  a  group  of  houses  known 
as  a  town,  made  up,  with  the  lumber-camps,  all 
that  there  was  of  human  habitation.  The  lands 
had  been  taken  up  years  before  the  date  of  my 
tale,  by  a  few  settlers,  chiefly  from  New  England 
or  Eastern  Pennsylvania,  in  the  hope  that  the 
wealth  of  coal  beneath  the  soil  would  one  day  en- 
rich them,  when  the  iron  roads  should  give  access 
to  the   lake.     Among  these  pioneers  were  some 


MI30364 


Q  INTRODUCTION. 

vigorous,  enterprising  men,  but  for  the  most  part 
they  were  waifs  and  strays  whom  civilization  had 
disappointed.  A  few  who  came  into  the  woods 
together  were  Swedenborgians.  These  mysterious 
woodlands  suited  them.  Regarded  by  their  neigh- 
bors as  strange  beings,  they  lived  on,  patiently 
waiting  for  the  better  earthly  good  which  did  not 
come.  The  majority  had  no  religion,  or  what  they 
had  had  faded  away  in  the  absence  of  churches,  and 
their  schoolless  children  grew  up  strong  as  young 
pines  in  that  untainted  air.  In  these  deep  woods, 
untroubled  by  courts  of  justice,  a  more  dangerous 
and  smaller  class  found  a  sanctuary  into  which  no 
avenging  law  pursued  their  steps.  With  lessened 
temptations  and  sufficient  work,  fish  in  the  streams, 
and  game  in  the  woods,  life  was  adventurous  enough 
to  suit  their  tastes,  and  not  too  difficult.  Hence, 
serious  crime  was  rare,  and  these  rough  exiles  from 
the  cities  were  less  troublesome  than  in  more  con- 
ventional communities.  For  grave  offences  the 
law  of  the  woods  was  swift  enough,  and  sometimes 
even  too  thoughtlessly  swift,  in  its  vengeance.  On 
the  whole,  the  tone  of  this  widely-scattered  and 
sparse  population  was  right-minded  and  just.  A 
certain  manliness  was  the  common  gift.  Caste  was 
unknown.  Physical  strength  and  skill  with  axe  or 
rifle  were  valued  as  they  must  needs  be  in  such  a 
life.  Newspapers  were  rarely  seen,  and  politics 
troubled  no  man. 

Three  years  before  the  date  of  my  story,  Eliza- 
beth Preston  had  found  her  way  with  her  hus- 
band into  the  wilderness.    A  great  stress  was  upon 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

her.  In  body  and  mind  she  was  for  the  time  worn 
out.  When  but  seventeen  she  had  married,  and, 
as  was  thought,  married  well.  Her  husband  was 
rich.  They  had  all  that  men  desire.  A  few  years 
in  our  growing  land  would  bring  their  acres  near 
New  York  and  about  Albany  to  such  values  as 
would  make  them  feel  at  ease  concerning  the  re- 
mote future. 

Paul  Preston  was  a  man  who  was  joyous  and 
companionable  because  fate  had  never  given  him 
cause  to  be  otherwise,  and  had  the  restless  vivacity 
of  slightly-constructed  character.  Men  of  this  type 
resemble  in  a  measure  certain  immature  feminine 
natures,  and  have  a  like  attractiveness.  But  the 
easily  pleased  possess  the  seeds  of  clanger  in  their 
facile  temperaments.  Pain  in  all  its  forms  is  as  near 
as  pleasure,  and  far  more  potent  to  influence.  The 
terrible  intimacy  of  marriage  soon  taught  his  young 
wife  some  sharp  lessons.  She  saw  as  others  had 
seen  that  he  was  always  too  near  unhappiness,  and 
soon  learned  that  he  would  go  to  any  length  to 
escape  annoyance  or  avoid  discomfort.  This  tem- 
perament simply  dooms  a  man  if  by  mischance 
pain  becomes  for  any  length  of  time  a  fact  with 
which  he  has  to  deal.  ~Ho  man  who  has  not  fought 
this  demon  knows  how  many  other  devils  he  brings 
with  him  into  the  house  of  torment.  From  them 
Paul  Preston  shrunk  morally  disabled.  A  brief  but 
painful  malady  taught  him  how  easy  it  is  to  escape 
from  pain  by  the  aid  of  sedatives.  For  such  men 
there  is  no  to-morrow.  Renewed  attacks  of  dis- 
ease served  to  fasten  on  him  the  habit  which  of  all 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

evil  habits  is  most  easily  made  and  most  hard  to 
break, — the  constant  resort  to  opium.  Once  cre- 
ated, it  found  in  Paul  Preston's  nature  that  which 
made  it  impossible  to  escape  even  when  the  awful 
bribe  of  pain  was  gone. 

Against  this  foe  of  heart  and  head, — for  to  both  it 
is  fatal, — Elizabeth  Preston  fought  the  losing  fight 
which  a  resolute  and  high-minded  young  woman 
wages  in  the  interest  of  a  weak  masculine  nature. 
It  were  vain  to  dwell  on  a  tale  so  common.  His 
property  disappeared  almost  mysteriously.  Trusts 
in  his  keeping  became  embarrassed  and  were  taken 
from  him.  At  last  she  knew  with  amazement  what 
it  was  to  want.  Next  she  learned  how  surely  all 
morals  wilt  in  the  presence  of  the  habit  he  had 
acquired.  He  became  at  last  a  passive,  inert  being, 
and  she  the  controlling  force.  Resolute  to  make 
one  last  effort  at  reform,  she  induced  him,  with  a 
certain  ease  which  amazed  her,  to  spend  a  summer 
on  a  great  tract  of  land  in  Northern  Pennsylvania, 
which  was  almost  the  last  unembarrassed  possession 
left  to  her.  Once  in  the  woods,  the  autumn  found 
them  with  so  little  means  that  to  stay  was  easier 
than  to  leave,  and  so  the  years  had  run  along  and 
by  degrees  she  had  settled  down  to  make  the  best 
of  a  bad  business.  She  thought,  and  rightly,  that  in 
the  wilderness  he  would  be  unable  to  secure  easily 
the  needed  drugs;  but  she  failed  to  calculate  on 
the  other  foe  which  is  apt  to  become  the  craving 
of  the  disappointed  opium-eater.  Whiskey  was 
only  too  plenty  about  the  logging-camps.  To 
this  he   took  kindly  and   fatally,  and,  enfeebled 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

by  sedatives  and  repeated  disease,  fell  an  easy 
prey. 

She  found  their  first  summer  in  the  woods  not 
altogether  unpleasant.  There  were  at  least  no 
social  pretences  to  sustain,  no  heedless  questions 
to  answer,  and  life  was  altogether  gratefully  uncon- 
ventional. But,  as  time  went  on,  new  and  unlooked- 
for  difficulties  arose  and  troubled  the  overweighted 
woman.  In  his  native  city,  Paul  Preston  had  had 
more  or  less  amusement  and  occupation ;  but  in 
the  woods  he  had  none,  and  this  was  a  matter  the 
thoughtful  young  wife  had  failed  to  anticipate. 
He  cared  nothing  for  the  manly  sports  the  land 
offered,  and  spent  his  time  lounging  about  in  the 
lumber-camps  with  a  low  class  of  men,  leaving  to 
his  wife  the  burden  of  looking  after  their  ruined 
affairs  and  of  making  such  provision  for  their  com- 
fort as  was  possible.  By  degrees  she  became  ac- 
customed to  take  the  place  of  both,  and  to  direct 
the  men  employed  to  build  their  cabin  and  clear 
their  fields.  As  to  her  husband,  she  learned  each 
week  a  new  lesson  of  despair,  as  things  went  from 
bad  to  worse.  At  last,  by  degrees,  he  took  to  his 
bed,  a  feeble,  selfish  invalid.  Doctors  there  were 
none,  and,  had  there  been  any,  they  would  have 
been  useless  to  Paul. 

When  laid  up  in  bed  and  wanting  his  accustomed 
stimulus,  a  very  mild  bribe  procured  it,  and  Mrs. 
Preston  found  it  vain  to  remonstrate  with  the  silent 
woman  whom  lack  of  enterprise  alone  induced  to 
remain  with  them.  She  had  come  for  a  week,  and 
had  never  had  the  energy  to  do  more  than  merely 


10  INTRODUCTION. 

talk  of  leaving,  when  reproached  by  her  mistress 
for  her  willingness  to  supply  the  vicious  wants  of 
the  husband.  At  last  he  ceased  abruptly  to  care 
for  his  habitual  stimulus,  a  fatal  signal  of  decline. 
Elizabeth  Preston  saw  but  too  clearly  how  near  was 
the  end. 


','    . 


FAR    IN   THE    FOREST, 


CHAPTER    I. 


The  snows  of  a  grim  February  evening  were  fall- 
ing in  the  fine  flakes  which  predict  a  long  storm. 
On  the  broad  acres  of  a  clearing  above  the  Alle- 
ghany River  they  lay  thick  already  upon  the  deep 
accumulations  of  a  severe  winter.  Here  and  there 
the  furious  wind  had  blown  away  the  drifting 
masses  and  set,  black  against  the  whiteness,  sharp 
outlines  of  burned  or  mouldered  stumps.  Beyond 
the  snake  fence  on  either  side,  but  thinner  towards 
the  river,  stood  dense  forests  of  pine,  cherry, 
beech,  and  birch,  weighted  with  cumbering  masses 
of  snow  which  fell  at  times  as  the  wind  roared 
through  the  shaken  trees. 

A  well-built  and  unusually  ample  log  cabin  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  clearing.  On  one  side  the  drifts 
sloped  up  to  the  eaves  and  lay  piled  in  loose,  ever- 
shifting  heaps  under  the  shed  which  crossed  the 
front  of  the  house  above  the  door-way.  Save  for  a 
little  smoke  blown  straight  away  from  two  chim- 
neys of  stone,  and  a  dim  light  from  one  window, 
the  scene  was  comfortless  and  devoid  of  signs  of 
life.  Presently  the  door  opened,  and  a  tall  woman 
came  out  and,  trampling  down  the  snow,  stood  and 
looked  across  the  lonely  clearing.     She  drew  long 


:J. J;'    J    <;;       j   / F4R\  IN  THE  FOREST. 

breaths  of  the  sharp,  dry,  exhilarating  air.  Then 
she  walked  to  the  end  of  the  porch  where  the  drifts 
were  least  heavy,  and,  leaning  against  a  pillar,  stood 
motionless,  as  if  too  deep  in  thought  to  feel  the  in- 
tense cold.  In  a  few  minutes  a  small  rotund  person 
partly  opened  the  door  and  put  out  her  head. 

"  He's  waked  up  now,"  she  said.  "  Best  come 
in.     It's  powerful  chilly." 

"  I  will  be  there  in  a  minute,"  returned  the 
woman.  "  This  outside  air  is  such  a  help,  and  I 
am  so  tired,  Becky." 

"It  won't  rest  you  none  to  git  yer  ears  frost-bit, 
and  I'm  that  wore  out  with  keepin'  awake,  I've  just 
got  to  lie  down  if  I'm  to  keep  on  spellin'  you." 

"  I  will  come,"  said  Mrs.  Preston.  "  Is  he  any 
easier  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am ;  he's  a-rollin'  over  and  groanin'. 
Now  he's  a-callin'.  " 

Mrs.  Preston  went  in. 

The  storm  outside  had  ^one  from  bad  to  worse. 
The  snow  sifted  through  the  chinks  under  door  and 
window,  and  without,  the  wind  howled,  scurrying 
around  the  lonely  cabin. 

Sadly  watching  her  husband's  uneasy  sleep,  she 
sat  late  into  the  night,  at  times  thinking  of  the  re- 
morseless past,  at  times  rising  to  warm  herself  at 
the  fire,  where  Becky  was  snoring,  her  chin  on  her 
breast.  Of  a  sudden  Mrs.  Preston  turned.  Was 
it  a  sound  of  human  life  she  heard?  It  seemed 
unlikely. 

The  rare  ox-roads  were  lost  to  view,  and  travel 
was  next  to  impossible  except  on  snow-shoes,  while 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  13 

within  the  cabin  death  was  drawing  near  with  swift 
and  certain  steps.     Suddenly  she  roused  herself. 

"What's  that,  Becky?  Becky!"  The  woman 
looked  up.  "  I  heard  some  one  knock.  Listen, " 
added  the  tired  wife. 

"  Oh,  it  ain't  nobody." 

Both  sat  down  again,  but  in  a  few  minutes  Bessy 
Preston,  as  she  had  been  called  in  her  happier  days, 
arose  and  took  a  candle,  saying,  "  Keep  awake  till 
I  come  back.  It  must  be  some  one.  I  heard  it 
ao-ain.     There !     There !     Some  one  called." 

"  Well,  you  won't  be  easy  till  you  see,"  said  the 
abrupt  Becky. 

Mrs.  Preston  left  the  room,  hearing  as  she  went 
the  loud  breathing  of  the  failing  man.  Crossing  the 
larger  apartment,  she  glanced  at  her  boy,  asleep  on 
a  mattress  in  the  corner.  The  wind  found  entry 
at  a  dozen  half-closed  chinks  and  under  the  door, 
flaring  her  candle  as  she  guarded  it  with  her  hand. 
She  set  it  down  on  the  table,  and  opened  the  door 
with  difficulty.  The  wild  wind  rushing  in  sent  the 
snow  over  her  in  clouds,  and  put  out  the  light,  as  a 
heavy  form  seated  propped  against  the  door  fell  in- 
ward across  the  threshold.  Seeing  dimly  by  the  blown 
light  of  the  huge  logs  flaring  on  the  hearth  that  it 
was  a  man,  she  bent  over  and  tried  to  drag  him 
into  the  room.  Unable  to  succeed,  she  called  Becky, 
and  together  they  drew  him  before  the  fire.  As  the 
great  logs  cast  their  blaze  on  his  face,  the  women 
saw  glazed  eyes,  a  long  yellow  moustache,  purple 
lips,  a  face  unlike  any  they  knew,  haggard  with  the 
set  look  of  swiftly-coming  death. 


14  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

"  Quick,  Becky !  Bring  a  bucket  of  snow."  Bessy 
loosened  his  necktie,  and  cast  off  a  fur  cloak  from 
his  shoulders,  then  pulled  off  his  gloves,  and,  with 
help  from  Becky,  his  long  gaiter  moccasins,  ob- 
serving that  around  one  of  them  were  the  deer 
thongs  of  the  snow-shoes  which  he  had  apparently 
lost  in  the  drifts.  Then  they  rubbed  his  hands  and 
feet  with  snow,  and  at  last  got  down  his  throat  an 
ample  dose  of  whiskey.  At  intervals  he  drew  a 
long  breath,  and,  half  an  hour  later,  suddenly 
opened,  shut,  and  reopened  his  eyes,  and  began  to 
breathe  steadily.     At  last  he  spoke. 

"Wobinich?" 

"  What's  that  ?"  said  Becky. 

"  He  is  a  German.  There,"  leaning  over  him, 
"you  are  safe." 

"Ach !     Ich  bin  im  Himmel." 

"  Can  you  speak  English  ?" 

"Ach,whynot?   Where  am  I?   I  cannot  see  yet." 

"  You  are  safe.  I  am  Mrs.  Preston.  You  are  in 
my  house." 

"  Thank  you.     Ah,  how  comfortable  it  is !" 

"It  might  be  that  Ryverus.  I  heerd  tell  of 
him,"  said  Becky. 

"  Hush !  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  mistress.  They 
continued  to  aid  him,  and  at  last  he  was  able  to 
rise,  take  off  his  coat,  and  sit  up  in  a  chair.  His 
face  was  still  haggard,  his  limbs  tremulous. 

"  You  are  Mrs.  Preston,"  he  said,  after  a  little. 
"  I  am  John  Riverius.  I  started  to  go  over  from 
one  logging-camp  to  another,  and  lost  first  my  way 
and  then  my  snow-shoes,  and  now  but  for  you  my 


FAR   IN   THE   FOREST.  15 

life  had  gone  too.  How  can  I  thank  you,  madam  ?" 
Unmistakably  he  was  a  gentleman,  and  the  words 
of  one  of  her  own  class,  to  which  she  had  long 
been  unused,  affected  her  strangely. 

"Keep  thanks  for  to-morrow,  Mr.  Riverius." 
(  "  What  a  curious  name  I"  she  thought.)  "  Becky 
will  get  you  some  supper.  A  shake-down  in  front 
of  the  fire  is  the  best  I  can  offer.  And  now,  good- 
night. I  must  go  to  my  husband.  He  is  very  ill. 
Good-night." 

He  stood  up  with  some  little  difficulty,  took  her 
hand,  and,  bending  over,  touched  it  with  his  lips. 
"  My  lands  I"  said  Becky,  with  the  undisguised 
critical  freedom  of  the  woods.  The  German  turned 
on  her  a  slight  look  which  made  her  uncomfortable 
for  a  moment,  she  hardly  knew  why.  Then  he 
smiled,  as  if  remembering  his  near  peril  and  the 
womanly  help  both  had  given.  The  look  of  haughty 
impatience  passed  like  a  shadowing  cloud. 

"Ach,  madam,  if  I  am  forbid  to  say  my  thanks, 
I  shall  at  least  be  grateful  in  my  dreams." 

"  Certainly  it  is  out  of  my  power  to  prevent 
that,"  Mrs.  Preston  answered,  smiling.  Then 
she  passed  into  the  adjoining  room,  whence  came 
through  the  chinky  partition  the  sound  of  long 
hoarse  respirations  and  at  times  the  suppressed 
tones  of  the  watcher. 

Bessy  had  been  very  weary  an  hour  before,  but 
now  the  sudden  fresh  call  upon  her  energies,  the 
enlivenment  of  pity,  fearful  expectation,  sense  of 
power  to  rescue,  had  strangely  tuned  anew  the  re- 
laxed energies  to  possibility  of  healthy  responses. 


16  .FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

Had  the  aided  man  been  of  the  rou^h  woodsmen 

CD 

she  knew  so  well,  the  task  would  have  been  as 
gladly  and  as  perfectly  done,  but  there  would  have 
been  lacking  the  little  flavor  of  interested  curiosity 
as  to  the  person  helped.  His  was  a  type  quite 
new  to  her,  but  there  are  mysterious  shibboleths  by 
which  well-bred  women  assign  men  to  their  true 
social  place.  A  man  of  Bessy  Preston's  class  would 
have  tardily  reached  her  conclusion — in  a  day  or 
two. 

She  sat  down  by  Paul  Preston's  bedside,  saw 
him  sleep  again,  and,  musing,  went  over  anew  the 
scene  in  which  she  had  taken  part.  Suppose  she 
had  not  heard.  A  half-hour  more,  and  rescue 
would  have  been  impossible.  She  shuddered.  It 
had  been  a  really  great  effort  to  get  up  and  go  to 
the  door.  Months  of  sad  exertion,  days  of  tears, 
entreaties,  nights  of  watching,  had  brought  her  to 
the  danger-verge  of  serious  physical  exhaustion. 
Years  of  vain  unrewarded  struggle  had  subdued 
her.  A  half-hour's  sudden  success  had  sent  through 
her  an  arousing  sense  of  competence  and  renewed 
her  faith  in  effort.  For  the  time  it  left  her  very 
happy.  To  give  always  made  her  joyful,  and  she 
had,  too,  the  royal  and  more  rare  capacity  to  receive 
with  dignity.  She  was  herself  aware  that  she  wTas 
by  nature  proud, — too  reserved,  she  had  always 
said, — would  have  liked,  she  suspected,  to  be  even 
haughty  had  her  gentler  part  permitted  the  luxury 
of  such  indulgence.  It  may  have  been  so,  but  an 
immense  appetite  for  loving  had  ever  perplexed 
her  reserve.     An  eager  helpfulness  was  part  of  her 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  yj 

nature.  Where  she  loved,  and  when  she  gave  or 
aided,  a  certain  pleasant  simplicity  made  it  appear 
graciously  natural  to  those  on  whom  her  bounty  of 
heart  or  her  more  material  givings  chanced  to  fall. 
She  had  the  child's  unspeculative  generosity.  The 
man  outlives  the  boy.  The  girl  is  apt  to  survive  as 
an  essential  part  of  the  best  womanly  life. 

As  Bessy  Preston  sat  with  a  little  innocent  feeling 
of  romance  in  her  mind  as  to  the  incident  which 
had  just  excited  her,  John  Riverius  was  devouring 
his  bacon  and  hard-tack  with  the  voracity  of  a 
wolf.  Meanwhile,  Becky,  having  provided  for  his 
wants,  deliberately  seated  herself  and  watched  him 
with  curiosity.  She  treated  Mrs.  Preston  with  a 
fair  share  of  consideration,  but  for  no  one  else  had 
she  the  slightest  regard,  and  she  was  simply  a 
sturdy,  domestic  animal,  who  recognized  but  one 
mistress,  and  did  her  duty  somewhat  inefficiently. 

"  Is  the  Herr  Preston  very  ill  ?"  said  Riverius. 

"  Who  ?"  said  Becky. 

"  Oh  !    Mr.  Preston." 

"  Him !"  returned  Becky,  pointing  to  the  sick 
man's  room.  "  Paul  Preston.  Yes,  he's  took  bad 
this  time.  He  won't  be  no  loss,  neither."  Becky 
saw  no  cause  for  reticence. 

Despite  his  knowledge  of  the  utter  frankness  of 
the  woods,  Riverius  had  a  slight  sense  of  amused 
amazement.  Then  he  reflected  a  moment,  and 
said,  softly, — 

"Is  he  going  to  die  ?" 

"  He  won't  if  he  can  help  it;  but  he  is.  There 
ain't  much  of  him  left  to  die  with." 


18  FAR  IN   THE   FOREST. 

The  oddity  of  the  phrase  struck  the  German. 
"  What  does  the  doctor  say  ?" 

"  Doctor !   He  ain't  got  none.    He's  just  a-dyin\" 

uDo  you  mean  that  you  two  women  are  alone 
here  with  a  dying  man  and  with  no  other  help  ?" 

"  There's  little  Paul,  and  he  ain't  no  good  yet. 
He's  too  small.  Phil  Richmond  was  here  three 
days  back,  and  Myry  she'd  come  too,  if  the  snovv'd 
git  harder.  I'm  goin'  myself  then.  It's  too  much 
work,  and  they  say  help's  wanted  bad  down  river, 
Pittsburg  way." 

"Ach,"  said  the  German,  rising  to  warm  his  stiff 
back  at  the  fire.  "  I  haven't  thanked  you  yet, 
Becky." 

"  Oh,  it  weren't  no  trouble.  I'd  'most  as  lief  rub 
your  legs  as  split  wood." 

He  laughed  quietly.  "  Look  here,  Becky,"  and 
he  cast  a  bright  gold  eagle  in  her  lap,  "  you  must 
not  go  away.  Once  a  week  I  shall  give  you  a  thing 
like  that,  for  a  month,  we  will  say,  and  after  that 
we  can  talk  again." 

Becky  looked  at  the  coin,  turned  it  over,  tied  it 
up  in  the  corner  of  an  unwholesome-looking  yellow 
silk  handkerchief,  and  put  it  in  the  sanctuary  of  her 
bosom.  "  I'll  bide  a  bit,"  she  said,  and  made  no 
further  comment  on  the  matter.  "  Got  all  you  was 
wantin'?  I'm  to  spell  her  till  mornin',"  she  added, 
pointing  to  the  bedroom,  and,  so  saying,  disap- 
peared by  the  door  which  opened  into  the  sick 
man's  chamber. 

A  moment  later  she  came  back,  and,  putting  only 
her  round  head  through  the  door,  said  succinctly,-- 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  19 

"She  says  you  ken  smoke  here  if  you've  a  mind 
to,  or  in  the  kitchen ;  'tain't  no  difference." 

He  rose  at  the  words,  as  if  to  the  personal  presence 
of  the  woman  whose  message  he  received. 

"  Mrs.  Preston  is  very  good, — very  thoughtful. 
How  thinks  she  of  others  thus  much  in  her  own 
trouble  !  I  will,  with  her  good  permission,  smoke 
in  the  kitchen." 

"  Don't  you  upset  the  clothes-horse.  Ther's 
things  a-dryin'." 

"  I  shall  be  careful." 

The  head  disappeared,  and  the  door  was  closed 
with  needless  noise.  Looking  about  him  with  a 
queer  sense  of  puzzle,  he  took  in  the  interior, — the 
birch-barked  wall,  warm  in  ruddy  brown  colors,  the 
two  silver  candlesticks  on  the  mantel.  He  picked 
up  one,  and,  caught  by  a  mark  below  the  crest, 
brought  out  a  loupe  from  his  pocket  and  examined 
it  with  the  interest -of  a  connoisseur.  "  The  Dutch 
Lion  and  the  arms  of  Leyden.  About  1700,  one 
would  say."  And  he  set  it  down  with  a  certain  ten- 
derness. Then  he  noticed  a  print  by  Raphael  Mor- 
ghen,  and,  candle  in  hand,  glanced  at  it  a  moment, 
muttering,  "  Waste  of  a  good  engraver  on  a  poor 
picture  at  best."  Next  he  looked  over  the  small 
row  of  books,  and,  choosing  one,  took  it  with  him 
into  the  kitchen,  closing  the  door  behind  him.  Un- 
doubtedly there  did  appear  to  be  clothes-horses  and 
innumerable  garments  on  chair-backs  and  pegs,  so 
that  a  peculiar  dampness  pervaded  the  air,  which 
was  at  a  tropic  temperature  owing  to  a  big  fire  re- 
cently renewed.      Seeing  no  chair  unoccupied  by 


20  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

some  fashion  of  clothing,  he  sat  down  on  the  floor, 
with  his  back  against  a  pile  of  logs,  and  carefully 
filled  an  ample  meerschaum  which  he  handled  with 
lover-like  care.  He  was  immensely,  deliciously 
comfortable. 

"  Himmel !"  he  said  to  himself,  "just  as  one  gets 
used  to  doing  without  luxury  and  life  gets  simple 
and  wants  grow  less,  one  is  set  face  to  face  with  an 
unanswerable  problem.  And  what  can  one  do? 
Much  obliged  to  you,  madam,  and  go  away.  Becky 
is  such  a  simple  creditor.  She  can  be  paid.  Why 
does  a  man  hate  an  obligation?  And  I,  of  all  men? 
I,  Johann  Blverius,  I  go.  I  am  lost  to  her  life,  and 
there,  eternally,  is  this  debt  carrying  the  interest 
of  every  agreeable  thing  I  shall  ever  do  or  see  or 
hear  in  the  next  fifty  years,  if  I  live  as  long  as  my 
fathers."  He  disliked  obligations, — why,  he  would 
have  found  it  hard  to  say.  Long  training  in  self- 
reliance  had  bred  a  sturdy  trust  in  his  own  compe- 
tence to  deal  with  whatever  might  turn  up.  He 
would  have  hated  to  think  that  he  undervalued 
human  help  because  its  need  implied  in  him  some 
lack  of  prudence,  forethought,  or  force. 

Yet  this  was  vaguely  in  his  mind  just  now.  "  I 
might  have  known  the  risk,"  he  thought.  Then 
he  figured  to  himself  death,  and  two  weak  women 
struggling  for  victory,  the  field  of  contest  his  weak 
inert  body.  There  was  for  Riverius  a  sense  of 
humiliation  in  the  matter.  He  faintly  recalled  his 
desire  to  resist  as  he  had  realized  the  idea  that 
they  were  rubbing  his  feet  and  hands.  At  last  he 
emptied  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  and  stood  up,  a 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  21 

tall,  soldierly-looking  man  of  some  thirty-two 
years.  "  What  can  an  honest  man  give  for  a  life  ?" 
he  reflected.  "  What  would  it  fetch,  and  in  what 
coin  he  paid  for?  Good  constitution,  slightly  dam- 
aged by  cold.  Ach  !"  and  he  laughed  outright,  "  I 
would  bid  it  in  pretty  high."  Then  he  opened 
the  door,  saw  the  shake-down  on  the  floor,  and, 
without  undressing,  put  his  head  on  his  folded  fur 
coat,  now  dry,  and  was  soon  happily  out  of  reach  of 
the  problem  which  his  pipe  had  failed  to  help  him 
solve. 


CHAPTER   II. 

Biverius  rose  early  next  day,  went  out  and  drew 
water  from  the  well,  and  found  in  the  drift  at  the 
door  his  knapsack,  and,  so  aided,  made  his  brief 
toilet.  The  storm  was  over,  the  sun  out,  the  air 
sharp  and  cold.  Everywhere  the  drifts  were  deep, 
and  travel,  even  with  snow-shoes,  was  difficult,  and 
without  them  out  of  the  question. 

Mrs.  Preston  met  him  as  he  came  in.  She  looked 
worn  and  pallid  from  her  night-watch.  "  Good- 
morning.  I  hope  you  feel  no  ill  effects  from  your 
freeze.     One  has  to  be  careful  in  these  woods." 

"  I  am  very  well,"  he  answered,  "  and  so  used  to 
the  country  that  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  the 
trouble  I  caused." 

"  It  was  no  great  trouble.  I  really  was  the  better 
for  it.  The  necessity  for  sudden  physical  exertion 
sometimes  helps  one.  You  must  make  yourself  as 
comfortable  as  you  can  until  the  crust  gets  hard  or 
we  can  find  you  snow-shoes." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  right.  Ah !  is  this 
your  boy?"  he  added,  as  a  lad  of  nine  entered  from 
the  back  door. 

"Come  here,  Paul,"  she  said.  "This  is  Mr. 
Riverius,  a  gentleman  who  will  be  with  us  a  day  or 
two.  You  must  take  care  of  him.  I  cannot  leave 
your  father  long  alone."  Riverius  liked  it  that  she 
gave  no  explanation  of  how  he  had  come. 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  23 

The  boy  came  forward  frankly  and  welcomed  the 
stranger  with  a  queer,  boyish  sense  of  being  the 
host.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  talking  of  the 
drifts,  and  the  German  was  describing  to  Paul  a 
glacier,  and  chamois-hunting.  Mrs.  Preston  stood 
for  a  little  while  and  listened,  but  presently  was 
summoned  by  Becky  and  went  back  to  her  husband. 
Then  the  German  said,  "  Has  your  father  been 
long  ill  f» 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  good  while.  Mother  says  he  is  very 
sick,  and  Becky  says  he  is  going  to  die.  Do  you 
think  he  will  die  ?" 

Riverius  glanced  at  him  with  fresh  interest.  He 
was  tall  and  neatly  built,  with  promise  of  strength, 
and  had  the  cloud-blue  eyes  of  the  mother. 

"I  do  not  know,  my  lad.  What  is  it  that  he 
has  ?     What  sickness  ?" 

Paul  knew  but  too  well.  He  colored.  "  Mother 
knows.     I  don't  rightly  understand,  sir." 

"  Ah !"  exclaimed  Riverius,  quickly.  "  I  can  ask 
her.     Perhaps  I  may  be  of  some  use." 

"Shall  I  call  her?" 

"  No, — oh,  no.     Presently  I  will  talk  to  her." 

"  Here  is  breakfast." 

The  German  stopped  his  hostess  as  she  passed 
through  the  room  an  hour  later.  "  Pardon  me," 
he  said,  "  but  I  have  travelled  much,  and  know  a 
little  medicine.     Let  me  see  your  husband." 

"  Ah,  if  you  would  !"  she  said,  eagerly.  "  Come 
in  ;  come  in.  He  won't  know.  He  is  worse."  He 
followed  her  and  stood  by  the  bed,  took  the  cold 
hand,  felt  the  colder  feet,  and  looked  up,  drawing 


24  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

back  a  pace  from  the  bed.  She  glanced  at  him 
inquiringly.  He  shook  his  head  slowly.  She  un- 
derstood. 

"Is  he  dying?" 

"  It  will  not  be  long.     He  suffers  not  now." 

At  intervals  Paul  Preston  ceased  to  breathe, 
then  drew  a  deep  draught  of  air,  and  then  a  less  and 
a  lesser,  with  regardless  eyes  staring  up  at  the  log 
rafters.  By  and  by  he  moved  uneasily,  revived  a 
little,  and  put  forth  a  hand,  which  fell  on  that  of 
Riverius  resting  on  the  bedside.  The  dying  man 
shut  his  damp  lingers  on  it,  muttering  words  which 
Riverius  could  not  understand.  Both  of  the  lookers- 
on  saw  the  mistake,  but  neither  stirred.  "  Ah," 
said  Bessy,  catching  the  meaning  of  the  broken 
phrases.  The  words  called  back  to  the  woman  her 
young  life,  its  gradual  extinction  of  joy,  of  energy, 
and  at  last  of  hope.  Then  she  turned  to  the  bed  and 
stood  with  one  palm  on  the  moist  brow,  and,  as  if 
forgetful  of  any  other  presence,  said  aloud,  "  Thank 
God,  I  never  failed !  Oh,  Paul,  Paul,  did  you  ever 
know " 

The  German  drew  away  quietly  and  walked  to 
the  fireplace.  In  a  few  moments  she  crossed  the 
room  to  him. 

"  I  think  he  must  be  dead.  Will  you  see  ?"  He 
had  been  dead  to  her  long  before.  There  are  such 
living  corpses  in  many  homes.  She  sat  down  and 
stared  dully  into  the  fire,  while  the  chance-comer 
stood  by  the  bed  and  was  about  to  close  the  set 
eyes.     Suddenly  she  was  beside  him. 

"Oh,  no,  no!   I!   I!    No  one  else!"   Andtremu- 


FAR  IN   THE  FOREST.  25 

lously  but  resolutely  she  did  for  the  dead  the  little 
needful  office. 

Riverius  went  out.  In  the  kitchen  he  met  Becky. 
"  He  is  gone,"  he  said. 

The  next  day  the  drifts  were  firmer,  and  a  man 
from  a  cabin  across  the  river  was  sent  off  for  help, 
and  two  or  three  woodsmen  came  in  from  a  lumber- 
camp.  Later  in  the  morning,  as  Riverius  stood  at 
the  door  in  the  sun  with  Paul,  he  saw  crossing  the 
clearing  a  tall  man  and  a  large,  fair  woman,  both 
on  snow-shoes. 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  said  the  German. 

"  Oh,  that's  Philetus  Richmond ;  he's  blind. 
Sometimes  he  works  here.  Miriam's  with  him. 
She's  his  wife.  They  live  down  the  river  a  bit,  a 
good  bit  back. — Where's  Phely?"  he  said  to  the 
woman,  as  they  came  nearer. 

"  I  left  Ophelia  at  Mr.  Rollins's  camp  with  Mrs. 
Rollins.     How  is  your  mother,  Paul  ?" 

"  Better,  to-day.  Go  in,  please.  This  is  Mr. 
Riverius,  Myry. — Philetus,  this  is  Mr.  Riverius." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  in  your  muffles,"  said  the 
German.     "  We  have  met  before." 

In  a  day  or  two  Paul  Preston  was  laid  at  rest 
among  the  pines  a  few  hundred  yards  back  of  the 
house,  and  those  he  left  behind  him  set  about  by 
degrees  to  readjust  their  lives  as  seemed  possible  or 
best.  Meanwhile,  Riverius  had  induced  Philetus 
to  take  him  in  as  a  boarder,  much  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  his  wife  Miriam,  and  very  soon  to  that  of 
the  little  Ophelia.  To  women,  Riverius  showed 
his  best  side,  and  now  found  Mrs.  Richmond  kindly 


26  FAR  W  THE  FOREST. 

and  acceptable.  As  to  Philetus,  he  had  met  him 
often  in  the  lumber-camps,  and  knew  him  well. 

Some  three  weeks  later  Riverius  came  to  Mrs. 
Preston  and  said  as  she  sat  at  her  sewing,  "  I  go 
away  to-morrow.  I  hope  to  be  back  and  forward 
for  a  while.  Will  you  let  me  ask  Philetus  to  put  up 
for  me  a  cabin  outside  of  your  clearing  ?  I  shall 
hope  to  be  able  sometimes  to  return,  and  then  per- 
haps you  will  let  me  make  some  arrangement  by 
which  I  can  get  my  meals  with  you." 

"  As  you  please,"  she  said,  inertly.  She  was  suf- 
fering from  a  bewildering  sense  of  having  nothing 
now  to  do,  and  from  the  sort  of  remorse  such  deaths 
leave  to  the  woman  who  feels  that  she  ousrht  to  be 
crushed  and  desolated  and  yet  is  not. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  simply ;  "  and  when  I  re- 
turn, we  can  easily  arrange  the  business  part  of  it." 
Next  day  he  was  off  at  daybreak. 

In  the  brief  time  since  Paul  Preston's  death, 
Riverius  had  been,  as  was  natural,  a  very  frequent 
guest  at  Mrs.  Preston's  table.  He  provided  trout, 
caught  through  holes  in  the  ice,  and  some  easily- 
gotten  game,  and,  above  all,  made  rapid  and  close 
acquaintance  with  the  young  Paul,  who  now  reigned 
in  the  place  of  the  father. 

Riverius  had  been  at  school  in  England  and 
France,  but  nowhere  had  he  known  the  kind  of  lad 
who  now  excited  his  ever-ready  interest.  It  seemed 
a  thing  worth  study,  a  creature  at  the  ductile  age, 
bold,  mischievous,  thoughtless  of  consequences  as 
a  destructive  kitten,  surrounded  by  the  physical 
lures  with  which   nature  wooes  us  back  towards 


FAR   IN   THE   FOREST.  27 

barbarous  life,  and  restrained  and  modified  by  the 
ever  more  difficult  rule  of  a  woman,  the  force  of 
whose  influence  Riverius  saw  but  could  not  as  yet 
understand. 

The  value  of  physical  courage  the  German  per- 
haps over-esteemed,  and  the  boy's  fearlessness 
pleased  him.  The  reckless  fondness  for  dangerous 
sports  and  ventures  attracted  him.  The  good,  well- 
taught  manners  and  general  frank  pleasantness  of 
the  boy  were  to  his  mind,  and  he  knew  life  well 
enough  to  guess  that  the  dogged  obstinacy  of  a 
clever,  vain  youthhood  may  become  the  reasoning 
resoluteness  of  the  more  intelligent  man.  It  may 
by  this  time  have  been  seen  that  Riverius  was  of 
those,  the  few,  who  with  no  ulterior  object  find  the 
mere  study  of  character  attractive.  Our  own  indi- 
vidualism prevents  us  from  seeing  our  resemblances 
to  others,  and  it  was  this,  perhaps,  which  shut  out 
from  the  German's  mind  the  idea  that  in  many  ways 
the  boy  was  like  himself,  John  Riverius.  Also 
Paul  returned  his  liking  in  kind.  There  is  mys- 
terious and  irresistible  flattery  in  the  dog  you  do 
not  know  who  comes  to  rest  his  muzzle  on  your 
knee,  and  in  the  little  one  who  of  a  sudden  takes 
you  into  its  life  and  shyly  gives  you  to  understand 
that  you  are  an  accepted  friend.  Very  proud  and 
reserved  men  often  get  on  with  boys  as  they  do  not 
with  their  equals  in  age,  allow  liberties,  and  enjoy 
with  them  a  friendly  freedom.  And  so  it  was  that 
in  a  week  or  two  of  wandering  and  shooting  with 
Paul,  Riverius  found  himself  talking  of  himself  and 
his  past  life  with  an  amount  of  ease,  and  even  com- 


28  FAR   IN   THE  FOREST. 

fort,  that  at  times  surprised  him.  As  to  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton, he  gave  himself,  save  as  to  one  thing,  little 
thought.  She  was  a  faded  woman,  with  handsome 
hair,  certainly  graceful,  listless,  apathetic,  or  self- 
absorbed  in  thoughts  more  or  less  painful,  now  and 
then  beset  with  self-evident  need  to  make  certain 
decisions,  which  she  feebly  postponed  from  day  to 
day.  All  her  life  she  had  been  dutiful,  and  now  to 
fail  hurt  her.  She  could  not  know  that  the  will  in 
a  too  weak  body  is  like  a  proud  king  without  an 
army.  A  vast  sense  of  discomfiture  oppressed  her, 
and  all  life  was  for  the  time  unreal  and  valueless. 
Riverius  knew  too  little  of  this  aspect  of  existence 
to  take  in  or  sympathize  with  her  peculiar  state. 
She  was  simply  a  lady  in  trouble,  and  he  owed  her 
the  infinite  obligation  of  a  life  saved.  She,  herself, 
just  now  had  ceased  to  think  of  it.  Any  woodsman 
would  have  been  cared  for,  fed,  and  housed,  just  as 
he  had  been,  and  the  incident  was,  after  all,  com- 
monplace in  these  woods,  where  in  winter  it  was 
not  rare  that  men  perished  of  cold. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Eiverius  was  destined  to  remain  away  far  longer 
than  he  had  meant  to  be.  It  was  June  before  he 
reappeared.  Twice  he  had  written  formal  letters 
of  inquiry, — letters  which  lay  in  the  post-office 
at  Olean  until  some  one  was  found  who  would 
promise  to  deliver  them.  Late  in  May,  Mrs.  Rich- 
mond persuaded  her  husband  to  let  her  go  over 
with  her  child  and  stay  near  Mrs.  Preston  in  the 
cabin  Philetus  had  built  for  Riverius.  She  had  the 
good  sense  to  know  how  useful  for  the  lonely  forest 
child  were  Mrs.  Preston  and  Paul,  and  for  some 
little  time  the  former  had  been  urging  them  to 
come,  with  an  increasing  sense  of  need  for  other 
company  than  the  indomitable  and  abrupt  Becky. 
And  now  Paul  was  indeed  very  happy.  The  buds 
were  everywhere  unfolding,  arbutus  had  come,  and 
all  the  hill-sides  were  rich  with  its  scent.  An  early 
spring  had  brought  out  the  silvery  dogwood-blos- 
soms so  that  the  forest  spaces  were  lit  with  their 
starry  multitude,  and  the  Judas-trees  showed  a 
deep  pink  between. 

Mrs.  Preston  sat  on  the  grass  with  Miriam,  and 
not  far  away  Paul  was  building  a  vast  pagoda  with 
red  and  white  corn-cobs,  a  delightful  task,  while  on 
a  stump  near  by  the  small  Ophelia  sat  impatient  at 
the  lack  of  notice  from  the  too-occupied  architect. 

The  child  was  in  many  ways  a  curious  contrast 


30  FAR   IN   THE   FOREST 

to  her  parents, — intensely,  even  amazingly  femi- 
nine, rather  pale,  or  with  the  faintest  pink  in  her 
cheeks,  a  delicately-made  little  person,  slender  of 
foot  and  hand,  quick  to  see,  eager  to  notice,  inno- 
cently craving  homage  from  those  about  her,  and 
most  of  all  from  any  male  within  reach  of  her 
devices. 

Mrs.  Preston  was  filling  a  dish  on  her  lap  with 
arbutus-blossoms,  and  now  and  then  regaling  her- 
self with  the  odors  of  that  most  delicious  of  the 
gifts  of  spring.  Miriam  Richmond,  seated  beside 
her,  was  sewing  buttons  on  a  red  flannel  shirt. 
They  gossiped  gently  of  the  loggers,  the  small 
news  of  the  woods,  of  the  children,  and  at  last  of 
Riverius. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Miriam,  "  when  he'll  come 
back?" 

"  In  about  three  weeks,  he  writes.  What  should 
bring  him  here,  or  why  he  wants  to  stay,  I  really 
cannot  see." 

"  He's  a  right  handsome  man.  He  just  stands 
up,  like.  Now,  my  Phil  ain't  an  ill-lookin'  man, 
but  he  don't  hold  himself  up  like  that  Riverius." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  he  is  rather  nice-looking,"  said 
the  widow.  "  Philetus  mi^ht  have  been  the  better- 
looking;  but  this  wood-life's  so  hard  on  the 
men." 

"Well,  I  never  did  see  a  man  just  like  that 
German.     Phil  says  he's  stuck  up." 

11 1  know  what  Philetus  means.  It  is  natural  to 
one  of  Mr.  Riverius's  class, — his — well,  his  train- 
ing, I  mean." 


FAR   IN   THE   FOREST.  31 

"  Wonder  where  he  came  from  ?  Didn't  you 
never  ask  him  V  • 

"No." 

"  Dear  me  !  I'm  that  curious,  I'd  want  to  know. 
Don't  you  ?" 

"No.  By  the  way,  that  reminds  me  that  Hies- 
kill  brought  a  letter  over  from  Olean  to-day  from 
Mr.  Biverius  to  my  boy.  How  proud  Paul  will  be  ! 
— Paul,  Paul,"  she  cried.  "  Here,  my  son,"  she 
said,  as  he  came, — "  here  is  a  letter  for  you  from 
Mr.  Riverius." 

It  was  the  boy's  first  letter.  The  importance  of 
the  event  was  immense.  He  walked  back  to  the 
girl  and  sat  down  on  the  ground. 

"  What  have  you  got,  Paul  ?"  she  said,  in  a  small, 
soft,  caressing  voice.     "Let  Phely  see." 

"  Only  a  letter,"  returned  the  boy,  in  a  large, 
indifferent  way. 

"  You  might  let  me  see." 

Paul  was  otherwise  minded.  He  opened  it  with 
care,  and  examined  the  post-mark  and  the  large  red 
seal,  stamped  with  a  coat  of  arms. 

"  What's  that  ?— that  red  thing  ?" 

He  took  no  notice,  but  proceeded  to  spell  out  the 
not  very  easily  read  writing. 

"Paul,  I'm  very  nice.     You  like  me." 

He  was  re-reading  this  important  document,  out 
of  which  he  had  taken  a  ten-dollar  note  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket  amidst  a  quaint  collection  of  bits  of 
string,  a  broken  knife,  horse-hair  for  trout-snoods, 
and  the  like. 

"  I've  got  a  new  dress." 


32  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Still  no  answer.  Then  the  little  maid  got  off 
her  stump  and  came  to  his  side. 

"  Me  kiss  you,  Paul." 

"  Oh,  don't  bother !" 

Thus  rejected,  she  went  over  to  the  corn-cob 
castle  and  gave  it  a  kick.  Down  it  came  in  ruin. 
She  looked  up  with  a  pretty  little  defiant  expression 
to  observe  what  would  come  of  it.  She  had  won 
his  attention  at  last. 

"  You're  a  mean,  bad  girl !"  he  said.  "  I'll  fi.x 
you."  But  the  little  sinner  was  away  and  had  her 
head  in  her  mother's  lap  before  he  could  catch  her. 

"  Paul,  Paul,"  Mrs.  Preston  said,  warningly.  He 
paused.  "  I  won't  play  with  her  again."  And,  so 
saying,  he  walked  around  the  house. 

"Here,  Becky,"  he  said,  "  this  is  from  Mr.  Rive- 
rius.  He  says  he  hopes  you're  a  good  girl,  and  no 
one  is  to  know  about  the  money.  Now  you  mind 
that." 

"  Oh,  I'm  an  awful  good  girl,"  said  Becky.  "  I'm 
ten  dollars  gooder  than  I  was,"  and  plunged  anew 
into  the  wash-tub. 

Paul  went  back  to  his  ruined  castle. 

"  What  does  he  say  ?"  said  his  mother. 

"  Oh,  he  just  says  he's  coming  soon,  and — and 
there's  a  secret.     The  rest's  a  secret." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Miriam. 

"I  guess  not." 

The  two  women  laughed. 

"  He'll  tell  me,"  said  the  small  maid. 

"  No,  he  won't,"  said  Paul.  Then  she  proceeded 
to  assist  him  in  the  work  of  reconstruction,  gra- 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  33 

ciously  handing  him  the  corn-cobs,  one  by  one,  and 
prattling  incessantly. 

"  You  ought  to  be  proud  of  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Preston.     "  She  is  really  a  winning  little  lady." 

"  Ophelia, — sweet  Ophelia,"  said  the  mother. 

Mrs.  Preston  laughed  with  genuine  enjoyment. 
"  My  young  Hamlet  doesn't  seem  easily  captured. 
What  company  the  child  is !  She  really  seems  to 
think  it  her  business  to  entertain  one.  When  she 
gets  older,  you  will  be  troubled  about  her  educa- 
tion. I  suppose  thinking  of  Paul  makes  me  think 
of  her  too." 

"  That's  the  worst  of  this  wilderness,"  said 
Miriam.  "  I  don't  mind  its  being  lonely,  but  you 
can  go  away.  I  can't,  and  Phil  blind.  Oh,  it's 
pretty  hard  to  fix  things." 

"  But  I  can't  go  away.  I  can  live  here,  if  this  be 
life,  but  my  lad's  future  terrifies  me  at  times;  and 
he  is  so  masterful,  as  Philetus  says." 

Certainly  Ophelia  Richmond  was  distinctly  a 
little  lady  of  nature's  cunning  make.  The  good 
dame  in  this  new  land  seems  to  have  indulged  her 
capricious  self  to  the  full.  A  rough,  strong,  Western  1 
man,  a  plain,  fair-featured  wife,  and,  behold,  a  child. 
If  fortune  favors  him  with  wealth,  the  girl  shares 
its  advantages.  By  and  by  there  is  a  handsome, 
noble-looking  woman,  quick  to  learn  the  ways  of 
any  greater  world,  adaptive,  ready-witted,  intensely 
feminine  in  her  power, — a  growth  from  the  social 
soil  of  one  generation,  a  thing  elsewhere  not  pos- 
sible. 

The  visitors  were  good  for  Bessy  Preston.     In 


34  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

another  world,  such  as  the  widow  had  left  behind 
her,  she  would  never  have  chanced  upon  Miriam, 
or  their  ways  could  never  have  run  together.  Mrs. 
Richmond  looked  up  to  her  with  an  approach  to 
reverence.  Circumstances  in  her  earlier  life  had 
made  her  of  necessity  studious  of  manners,  and  she 
felt  that  if  the  small  maid  ever  grew  to  have  the 
ease  and  control  and  pleasant  fashions  of  this 
woman,  it  would  leave  little  in  that  direction  to  be 
desired.  She  felt  herself  greatly  flattered  by  their 
friendly  relation,  and  did  not  estimate  how  much 
of  it  was  due  to  the  necessities  which  pushed  them 
into  alliance.  And  yet  Bessy  liked  her  well,  as 
she  liked  truth  and  steadfastness  wherever  found. 
Together  they  worked,  taught  their  children,  read 
a  little,  and  lived  along  in  company  with  the  May- 
days, until  at  last  Miriam  went  away  with  little 
Phelia  on  the  ox-cart. 

Late  at  night  a  fortnight  later,  and  early  in  June, 
a  like  rude  conveyance  came  to  a  halt  at  the  door 
of  Riverius's  cabin,  having  been  sent  to  the  river  to 
meet  his  canoes.  Riverius  opened  the  door,  went 
in,  struck  a  match,  and,  seeing  a  candle,  lit  it. 
"  Ach,  Himmel !"  he  exclaimed.  The  bed  was 
neatly  made.  There  were  four  or  five  rough  seats. 
Nets  were  tacked  in  the  window-openings,  an  indis- 
pensable comfort.  On  the  table  were  fresh  rolls 
and  cold  bacon,  and  to  one  side  a  few  flowers,  be- 
lated arbutus  chiefly,  in  a  common  soup-plate.  For 
the  first  time  he  smelled  the  loveliest  of  wild 
flowers.  The  odor  affected  him  curiously,  and 
those  who  have  not  his  intensity  of  appreciation 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  35 

would  find  it  hard  to  realize  how  it  acted  upon  him. 
He  felt  faint  for  a  moment,  and  then,  again  smelling 
the  flowers,  had  a  sense  of  joy  he  did  not  analyze. 

"  Ach,  that  was  friendly,"  he  said,  and  so  went 
to  bed,  leaving  his  bundles  and  trunks  out  in  the 
moonlight,  and  feeling  perfectly  at  ease  as  to  their 
safety. 

When  next  morning  at  six  he  passed  over  the 
dewy  clearing  to  breakfast  at  Mrs.  Preston's,  he 
saw  of  a  sudden  something  which  surprised  him. 
Out  of  the  door  came  to  welcome  him  a  tall  woman, 
whom  at  a  distance  he  did  not  instantly  recognize. 
"  She  walks  well,"  he  said  to  himself.  And  it  was 
true.  There  was  ease,  and  for  him  some  sense  of 
strength  with  grace,  or  rather  spaciousness,  in  her 
steps.  "  It  is  Mrs.  Preston,"  he  exclaimed  to  him- 
self. There  was  a  slight  color  in  her  cheeks,  a  little 
more  flesh  everywhere.  The  great  coil  of  hair 
above  the  cloud-blue  eyes  mysteriously  suited  the 
face  below  and  brought  out  the  vivid  red  of  the 
geranium  spray  her  boy  had  laughingly  set  in  its 
coils  a  few  moments  before.  Remembering  when 
and  under  what  circumstances  they  had  last  parted, 
she  set  herself  with  a  faint  sense  of  sudden  em- 
barrassment to  look  grave.  The  grim  death-bed, 
the  fierce  resolute  contest  with  another  death,  which 
had  seemed  as  near  the  fair  blond  and  manly  visage, 
and  then  the  German  as  she  recalled  him  in  the 
scattered  sunlight  beside  the  grave,  under  the 
pines,  came  back  to  her  in  succession.  She  was 
shocked,  actually  shocked,  because,  with  all,  there 
was  an  overtone  in  her  mind  of  satisfaction  in  see- 


36  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

ing  this  stranger.  In  fact,  she  was  yet  young,  full 
of  unexhausted  resources,  and,  without  distinctly 
knowing  it,  had  begun  anew  to  have  the  instinctive 
craving  for  the  company  of  others  of  her  own  class 
and  tastes  and  manners.  She  saluted  him  with  a 
certain  sobriety  of  greeting  which  did  not  quite 
fairly  represent  the  satisfaction  she  had  in  a  new 
face  and  intelligent  society.  "  Paul  will  be  very 
glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  giving  him  her  hand. 

At  the  breakfast-table  he  chatted  gayly,  talking 
of  the  people  he  had  seen  in  and  about  Pottsville, 
and  of  the  vast  coal  resources  in  its  neighbor- 
hood. He  had  brought  with  him,  to  Bessy's  de- 
light, many  books  and  some  comforts  for  his  own 
cabin  and  hers. 

"I  shall  be  back  and  forward,"  he  said,  "  and  it 
is  a  pleasant  thing  to  feel  that  one  has  a  home. 
How  shall  we  settle  our  business  affairs  ?  I  want  to 
own  my  cabin  and  a  few  acres  around  it." 

Bessy  laughed.  "It  would  be  hard  to  value. 
The  best  pine  is  mostly  cut,  and  really,  Mr.  Rive ri us, 
it  is  of  no  importance.  I  am  only  too  well  pleased 
for  Paul's  sake  to  have  you  near  us  when  you  are  in 
these  parts." 

"  Well,  then,  I  am  to  be  your  tenant,  and  we 
shall  have  to  set  a  rent." 

"  That  will  answer,"  she  said,  glad  to  be  rid  of 
the  question.  "  You  can  think  over  what  will  be 
right.     Whatever  you  say  will  satisfy  me." 

"  I  will  consider  it,"  he  returned,  gravely.  "  Becky 
will  look  after  my  cabin,  and  I  shall  pay  her." 

"  As  you  choose." 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  37 

"  I  ought  to  add  that  you  will  find  me  trouble- 
some. I  must  ask  you  to  keep  my  letters  or  re- 
address  them  according  to  what  directions  I  may 
give.  It  seems  a  good  deal  to  ask,  at  least  for  one 
who  has  only  the  claim  of  being  already  deep  in 
your  debt." 

"  You  make  too  much  of  my  small  service.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  do  whatever  I  can." 

"  The  giver  may  readily  forget,"  he  returned. 
"  For  my  own  part,  and  speaking  with  entire  frank- 
ness, I  know  that  if  life  be  anything  I  owe  it  to 
you.  I  am  young  enough  to  value  it,  I  assure  you ; 
and,  if  you  will  put  yourself  in  my  place,  you  will 
see  that  I  may  with  reason  feel  a  certain  embarrass- 
ment." 

She  understood  him,  and  liked  the  feeling  he 
showed.  "  I  can't  very  well  realize  what  I  have 
never  felt,"  she  said,  and  then,  more  lightly,  "  nor 
can  I  rearrange  the  chess-board  of  life  and  leave 
you  with  no  sense  of  obligation.  Let  it  suffice  that 
I  am  glad  to  have  helped  you  and  that  you  feel 
it  does  not  make  me  less  pleased.  I  said  once  that 
I  would  have  done  the  same  for  any  one;  but  I 
may  plainly  admit  that  I  would  rather  have  done  it 
for  one  of  my  own  class  than  for  Ance  Yickers,  or 
even  Philetus." 

"  That  is  all  very  well,  but  it  does  not  quite  dis- 
pose of  the  matter  for  me.  One  often  reads  or 
hears  of  cases  where  a  person  saves  another's  life, 
and  I  have  often  wondered,  in  hearing  or  reading  of 
such  instances,  how  the  obliged  person  felt  and 
what  he  was  called  on  to  do." 


38  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  I  see  the  difficulty ;  but  I  imagine  many  people 
do  not  feel  the  debt  as  you  seem  to  do." 

"  As  I  do." 

"  Well,  then,  as  you  do."  And  she  laughed.  "  I 
accept  your  amendment.  But  really  you  make  too 
much  of  it." 

"  No."  Then  he  paused,  and  added  abruptly,  "  I 
hate  debts  that  never  can  be  cancelled." 

"  That  is  hardly  a  noble  sentiment.  Pardon  my 
criticism." 

"  Well,  take  it  for  a  mere  weakness,  and  forgive 
its  folly." 

"  I  think  you  had  better  deal  with  it  yourself," 
she  answered,  smiling.  "  You  forget  that  I  am  a 
woman,  alone,  without  friends,  a  waif  drifted  off 
from  my  own  kind.  You  can  give  me  what  I  value 
and  shall  find  helpful, — a  friendship.  My  life  has 
been,  as  you  know,  a  failure.  Surely  you  can  see 
that  the  accident  which  brought  you  to  my  door 
also  brought  me  help  in  a  day  of  great  trouble.  I 
am  already  repaid." 

"  You  are  more  than  kind,  Mrs.  Preston." 

Then  he  took  his  rifle  and  went  away  into  the 
woods  with  Paul.  Mrs.  Preston  stood  at  the  door, 
following  them  with  her  eyes  as  they  went.  The 
German  had  given  a  fresh  flavor  to  her  life,  and  of 
late,  from  Philetus,  Miriam,  and  the  woodsmen  who 
at  times  paused  at  her  door,  she  had  heard  many 
comments  on  the  man  who  had  come  among  them 
and  acquired  large  interests  and  whose  ways  and 
manners  were  not  altogether  to  the  taste  of  the 
lumber-camps.     To  Elizabeth  Preston  it  was  clear 


*AR   IN  THE   FOREST.  39 

that  he  was  highly  educated,  a  gentleman,  with  the 
reserve  of  his  class.  The  fact  that  he  was  too  posi- 
tive at  times  to  he  popular  with  the  dwellers  in  the 
forest  was  also  plain  to  her.  That  he  was  calmly 
kind  and  helpful,  she  also  felt;  but  he  was  never  so 
long  with  them  as  to  enable  her  to  learn  more, 
even  if  her  own  nature  had  not  made  the  task  diffi- 
cult. 

"With  Paul  he  was  on  much  easier  terms.  He 
liked  to  teach  him,  to  talk  to  him,  and  to  have  him 
with  him  in  his  restless  wanderings  in  the  almost 
trackless  forest  about  them.  Certainly  his  company 
was  good,  and  helpful  for  her  boy.  Now  and  then 
he  spoke  of  leaving,  and  of  the  need  to  be  absent 
long ;  but,  save  for  brief  journeys  to  the  little  towns 
in  New  York,  he  seemed  to  be  intently  busy  with 
land  and  lumber  interests.  In  fact,  he  liked  the 
life,  and  by  degrees  had  gone  into  large  purchases 
which  agreeably  occupied  his  time  and  attention, 
so  that  he  was  beginning  seriously  to  contemplate 
a  permanent  residence  in  the  new  country. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

On  a  quiet  noon  of  a  warm  day  in  July,  Paul  sat 
on  a  tall  stump  in  the  woods,  his  interest  and  at- 
tention divided  between  Philetus  and  the  pungies, 
black  flies  and  mosquitoes. 

"  Them  pungies  must  be  awful  thick,  Paul,  the 
way  you're  a-slappin'  'em.  Git  up  and  build  a 
smudge." 

The  boy  rose.  He  smiled  pleasantly,  and,  look- 
ing about  with  a  pair  of  observant  eyes,  replied,  as 
he  gathered  some  dry  sticks  and  piled  on  them  a 
little  rotten  and  damp  wood,  "  I'd  like  to  know 
what  pungies  are  for,  anyway.  I  wish  I  had  them 
all  in  a  bag  on  top  of  this  lire.  I  guess  they 
wouldn't  be  missed, — not  much."  And  he  struck 
a  match  with  emphasis  on  the  back  of  his  polished 
and  not  over-clean  corduroys. 

The  dark  pungent  smoke  rose  up  to  windward  of 
the  tall  man,  and  swirled  around  his  broad  shoulders. 
He  smiled,  and,  as  he  turned,  it  was  seen  that  his 
eyes  were  dark  and  the  pupils  strangely  dilated. 
A  huge,  gray,  tangled  beard  hid  his  mouth,  but 
the  nose  was  large  and  bold,  the  forehead  massive, 
and  the  ears  stood  out  like  small  wings. 

"  I  guess  maybe  pungies  is  puzzled  to  know  what 
boys  is  for.  When  you  know  what  rattlers  is  for, 
maybe  the  Lord  'ill  let  you  know  why  pungies 
bother  small  boys.     To  keep  'em  awake,  maybe." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  41 

"I'm  wide  enough  awake,"  said  the  lad;  and, 
in  fact,  he  looked  it. 

"  Well,  I  don't  say  you  don't  use  your  eyes.  Keep 
on  a-usin'  'em.  I  used  mine  pretty  well  when  I  had 
'em,  and  I  ain't  sorry,  neither."  The  lad  made  no 
reply,  and  the  man  presently  added,  "  That's  the 
wust  of  havin'  no  eyes ;  makes  a  man  use  his 
tongue  sich  a  lot.  There's  a  heap  of  talk  a  man's 
eyes  kin  do,  and  git  answers  accordin',  without 
sich  eternal  tongue-chatter."  Then  he  paused  a 
moment.  "  Ef  I  could  see,  I  wouldn't  have  to 
wonder  what  makes  you  so  quiet  like." 

A  look  of  interested  contemplation  had  mean- 
while grown  on  the  lad's  face  as  he  regarded  the 
strong  blind  Samson  still  leaning  on  his  axe- 
handle.  "  I  was  thinking,"  and  he  paused, — "  I 
was  thinking  how  sorry  I  am  for  you,  and — and 
how  bright  and  nice  it  is  out  here." 

His  companion  caught  his  meaning  instantly. 
"  You  allers  did  like  me,  Paul :  I  knowed  that  the 
first  day  I  seen  you.  I  don't  mind  bein'  pitiful  fur 
boys  and  women.  As  fur  men,  'fore  a  man  pities  me 
he'd  best  see  ef  he  kin  fall  thirty-three  pines  in  a  day 
and  run  a  bob-sled  to  beat  Philetus  Richmond." 

"  But  you  can't  break  a  jam  now,  Uncle  Phil." 
Most  of  his  fellows  called  him  Uncle  Phil,  in  gentle 
instinctive  recognition  of  his  forest  rank  and  general 
kindliness  of  relation  to  the  young. 

"  You  hadn't  oughter  said  that.  Don't  you  go  to 
tell  folks  things  they  knows  a  derned  sight  too  well." 

The  lad's  face,  prone  to  signal  feeling,  fell.  He 
hitched  up  what  he  called  his  galluses  {Anglice,  sus- 


42  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

penders).  The  pair  were  quick  of  mental  touch, 
and  had  some  remote  and  one-sided  kinship  of 
moral  structure. 

"  Lumber  Bill  was  telling  us  last  night  how  you 
found  the  key  to  the  log-jam  on  the  Sinnemaho- 
ninsr  and  broke  it  when  there  wasn't  one  of  those 
Smethport  chaps  dared  try  it.  That's  what  made 
me  say  it,  Uncle  Phil.  I'm  sorry.  I  might  have 
guessed." 

"Well,  Paul  Preston,  I  didn't  mind, — much. 
Cur'us  how  a  thing  comes  into  a  fellow's  mind 
and  kind  of  squeezes  out  another  thing  he  needn't 
of  said.  Don't  you  be  afeerd  of  say  in'  soft  things 
to  folks  that's  down.  Not  that  I'm  down  much. 
You're  like  that  there  mother  of  yourn.  I  guess 
most  real  fellows  has  a  gal's  heart  somewhere. 
Where's  that  other  axe  ?  Fetch  it,  lad.  This  'ain't 
no  edge." 

Paul  brought  the  axe,  and  sat  down  again  on  the 
stump  and  fought  the  midges,  while  he  silently 
watched  Philetus.  The  woodsman  rolled  his  sleeves 
up  over  a  pair  of  tawny,  knotted  arras,  threw  down 
his  ragged  straw  hat,  whirled  the  blue  steel  around 
his  head,  and  smote  deep  into  the  stately  pine 
against  which  he  had  been  leaning.  Blow  followed 
blow  with  marvellous  precision.  The  fragments  of 
odorous  pine  flew  far  and  wide,  the  solid  trunk 
rang  resonant  through  its  dense  core,  and  the 
branches  above  shivered  as  if  conscious.  By  and 
by  he  had  cut  two-thirds  through  the  great  bole. 
Then  he  paused. 

"  Look  sharp,"  he  said.    "  I  give  Irm  three  more 


bAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  43 

licks,  and  then  look  out.  He'll  fall  north,  among 
them  birches.  Guess  that'll  clear  him.  Ther'  ain't 
no  pines  to  stay  him." 

A  look  of  increasing  interest  crossed  the  boy's 
face  as  he  spoke :  "  How  do  you  know  the  north, 
Uncle  Phil  ?" 

The  giant  laughed  as  he  bent  his  head  and  wiped 
against  his  rolled-up  red  sleeve  the  sweat  of  his 
brow.  "  What !  you've  been  a  year  or  more  round 
these  woods  and  don't  know  the  moss  likes  the 
north  side  of  trees  ?"  And,  as  he  spoke,  he  patted 
the  slightly  swaying  bole. 

"  I  did  know  it,  but  I  forgot  you  could  feel  it 
just  as  well  as  I  can  see  it." 

"  Ef  I  lived  long  enough,  I  do  believe  I'd  git  eyes 
at  them  finger-ends.  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  know 
how  I  guess  three  licks  'ill  make  a  dead  tree  of  this 
here  pine  ?" 

The  boy  smiled.  "  I  was  thinking  that.  How  do 
you  guess  so,  Uncle  Phil  ?" 

"  Heerd  your  mind,  maybe.  You  come  here. 
Now  you  jus'  listen.  Put  your  head  nigh  that  tree. 
There,  ag'in'  it.     Ain't  it  speakin'  ?" 

The  boy  was  aware  of  creaking,  crackling  sounds, 
as  the  south  wind  moving  the  vast  height  of  the 
pine  broke  fibre  after  fibre  of  the  slight  wedge- 
shaped  base  on  which  it  still  rested.  A  faint  sense 
of  something  akin  to  pity  seized  the  lad  as  he 
looked  up  at  its  warrior  pride  of  clean-limbed  trunk 
and  wholesome  leafage.  He  was  not  yet  old  enough 
to  capture  the  fleeting  reasons  for  his  faint  emotion. 

"Kind   of  groans,  I   call   'em,"  said   Philetus. 


44  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Then  his  face  changed,  and  it  was  singularly  ex- 
pressive. Something  of  the  rough  primitive  wood- 
king  grew  upon  it, — a  wild  joy  in  destruction. 

"  "Wish  I  could  see  him  smash  them  gay  birches ! 
Can  hear  it,  anyways." 

"  I  didn't  ask  what  made  you  know  they're 
birches."  This  lad  was  to  lose  nothing  in  life  for 
lack  of  a  questioning  tongue. 

"I  heerd  'em,  Paul.  'Ain't  they  got  ragged 
britches,  them  birches? — and  don't  I  hear  the 
rags  flap  ?  Every  feller  oughter  be  blind  ten  years 
and  deaf  ten  more,  and  then  git  his  eyes  and  ears. 
He'd  know  a  heap,  I  tell  you  he  would.  Don't  the 
wind  talk  diff'rent  in  a  pine  and  a  beech  and  a 
poplar?  You  jus'  shet  yer  eyes  and  git  that  ther' 
language.  Now  look  sharp.  Them  birches  don't 
guess  what's  a-comin'.  It's  me  or  the  Lord  Almighty 
as  has  doomed  'em.  These  many  years  'twas  so  set 
as  I  was  to  do  it,  and  they  was  to  bide  it."  This 
musing,  half-mystical  mood,  the  outcome  of  a  par- 
tially-forgotten creed,  was  at  times  common  enough 
with  Philetus  to  astonish  his  comrades,  but  not  so 
completely  as  it  would  have  done  a  like  class  else- 
where. He  went  on,  "  'Most  always  it  is  three 
goes  or  nine, — I  disremember."  Then  he  added, 
"  'Tain't  fair  to  be  talkin'  sich  wisdom  to  boys. 
Only  you  mind,  when  you  git  older,  thet  ther's  a 
man  named  Swedenborg  that  knowed  things  and 
critters  and  rocks  inside  their  great-coats,  and  don't 
you  go  to  thinkin'  I'm  a-talkin'  nonsense,  when 
you  can't  take  it  in." 

The  lad  stood  puzzled,  but  respectful  and  silent. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  45 

He  had  in  after-years  the  habit  of  saying  nothing 
when  he  had  nothing  to  say,  and,  being  of  a  widely 
curious  appetite  for  knowledge,  had  the  mental  art 
of  the  attentive  listener. 

After  a  pause  Philetus  said,  "  You  don't  under- 
stand." 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  Wall,  you'd  like  to.  That's  goin'  to  be  your 
kind;  but  ther's  growed-up  people  jus'  laughs  and 
says  I'm  out  of  their  depths.  When  I  see  a  man  in 
two  foot  water  yellin'  for  help  and  thinkin'  he's  out 
of  his  depth  because  he  'ain't  got  the  judgment  to 
stan'  up  on  the  legs  God  giv'  him,  it  makes  me 
mad.     Now  fur  it.     Git  back  a  piece." 

Paul  retreated,  and  with  eager  interest  watched 
the  strokes  of  doom.  Once, — twice, — thrice;  the 
forest  rang  to  the  blows.  The  great  sheaf  of  green 
bowed  as  the  south  wind  swayed  it,  stood  erect 
again,  then  bent  its  proud  state  as  never  once  before 
to  storm  or  cumbering  snows  its  strength  had 
bowed.  Slowly  as  a  monarch  with  no  haste  of  fear 
lays  his  head  upon  the  block,  it  moved  to  its  fall. 
Then,  with  a  strange  noise  of  cracking  fibres  below 
and  swifter  motion  above,  the  tall  shaft  fell  with  a 
crash,  amidst  innumerable  lesser  sounds  of  the  torn 
branches  of  down-tumbled  birches  and  the  quick 
swish  of  beaten  leaves.  The  woodman  leaned  on 
his  axe. 

"  I  done  that  there  job  well.  I  kin  handle  an  axe 
yet,  Paul  Preston.    My  strength  ain't  much  abated." 

"It  was  splendid,  Uncle  Phil.  I  wish  I  could 
chop  like  you !" 


46  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"You'll  chop  with  them  brains  of  yourn  some 
day,  I  guess.  What  was't  that  man  at  your  house 
said?  Somethin'  'bout  choppin'  logic.  For  all  he 
was  two  weeks  in  my  house,  I  never  kin  call  him 
rightly." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Eiverius,"  cried  the  boy,  laughing.  "  I 
think  he  meant  just  arguing,  you  know." 

"  That  ain't  your  kind  nuther,  younker.  You've 
got  the  same  way  your  mother's  got  of  hearin' 
things  out  to  the  end  of  'em,  and  then  a-sayin' 
somethin'  short  and  quick.  I  don't  like  that  there 
man  much.  He's  too  sot  in  his  ways.  He's  the 
kind  hangs  about  women.  I  never  cum  home  he 
ain't  a  trapseyin'  'round,  talkin'  to  Myry.  Guess 
he'd  'a'  died  ef  it  hadn't  'a'  bin  for  Mrs.  Preston. 
Couldn't  of  knowed  much,  anyway,  to  git  in  a 
scrape  like  that."  He  had  a  fine  sense  of  the 
humiliation  there  was  in  the  fact  of  the  man  he 
disliked  having  needed  help  from  a  woman. 

"Well,  he  knows  a  lot,"  urged  the  boy,  de- 
fensively, remembering  much  kindly  helpfulness 
and  their  frequent  talk  of  other  lands  and  the 
greater  world  Paul  longed  to  see. 

"  Yes,  he  knows  inside  of  books.  He's  got  a  no- 
tion God  ain't  writ  nuthin'  but  books.  I  say  God 
writ  in  the  souls  of  men ;  and  when  you  hears  a 
man  talkin'  wisdom,  that's  nigher  truth  than  books 
is." 

"But  suppose  a  man  puts  his  wisdom  into 
books  ?"  pleaded  the  boy.  "  Isn't  that  the  same, 
Phil  ?" 

"  'Tain't  got  the  life  in  it." 


FAR   IN   THE   FOREST.  47 

"  Oh !"  said  the  boy,  puzzled,  and  taking  time  to 
reflect. 

"  I  alius  did  wonder  what  fetched  that  'ere  man 
up  into  these  here  woods.  It's  nigh  about  two 
years  since  he  come.  He  must  own  a  power  of 
land  round  about.  lie's  got  judgment  'bout  land, 
but  he  ain't  got  none  'bout  men.  He's  too  much 
boss  for  Philetus  Richmond." 

Paul  was  silent.  He  knew  well  enough  that  the 
German's  abrupt  soldierly  methods  were  foreign 
and  repugnant  to  the  woodmen  he  employed. 

"  Now  you  go  call  ole  Consider,"  said  Philetus. 
"  I've  been  a-hearin'  his  axe  this  half-hour.  What 
did  I  say  call  for  ?  You  might  as  wTell  call  the  dead." 

"  I'll  bring  him,"  said  Paul,  and  went  away  at 
a  trot  through  the  woods.  Presently  he  came  upon 
a  small,  rather  stout  man  of  some  fifty  years,  who 
was  busy  passing  a  tape-measure  around  a  tree. 
He  did  not  move  until  the  boy  touched  him.  Then 
he  turned  a  clean-shaven  face,  simple  and  honest  in 
expression,  but  remarkably  sweetened  by  the  smile 
that  now  lit  it  up.  Speech  was  useless  with  him. 
He  was  utterly  deaf;  but  the  boy,  evidently  accus- 
tomed to  his  needs,  pointed  towards  the  place  he 
had  left,  and,  laughing,  pulled  at  the  man's  sleeve 
and  slapped  his  own  stomach. 

"  Grub-time,  and  Philetus  waitin'.  I'll  come. 
Hold  on  a  bit." 

He  ended  his  task,  pocketed  his  tape,  lifted  his 
axe,  and  moved  away  silent.  As  they  came  near 
Philetus,  he  said,  with  a  curious  softness  in  his 
tones, — 


48  FAR  IN   THE   FOREST. 

"  Kep'  you  bidin,  a  bit,  ears/'  The  deaf  man 
smiled.  "Old  eyes  won't  hear,  Paul,"  added  the 
blind  woodman.  "  Come  along.  He'll  roller.  Bell}  's 
a  good  clock.     Mine  gits  fast  nigh  feedin'-time." 

Consider  came  after  them  with  a  sort  of  quiet 
patience,  and  now  and  then  dropped  a  remark  to 
his  friend.  The  pair  made  a  queer  couple.  Years 
before,  over  a  log  camp-fire,  and  then  in  the  woods, 
they  had  formed  a  friendly  and  useful  partnership 
in  life  to  which  one  brought  eyes  and  the  other  ears. 
They  usually  bargained  to  work  together,  and  in  fact 
were  rarely  long  apart,  the  smaller  man,  with  his 
round  simple  visage  and  pug-like  tilt  of  atrophied 
nose,  being  little  more  than  a  trusty  canine  guide  to 
the  stanch,  blind  man,  away  from  whom  he  had 
the  restlessness  of  a  creature  who  misses  his  master. 

"  Take  care  of  that  felled  tree,  Phil,"  he  said. 

"  All  right,  Consider.  Come  along."  He  spoke 
always  turning  his  face  to  his  friend,  who  was  quick 
to  catch  his  meaning.  "  I  hear  the  horn  at  Widder 
Preston's.  Mus'  be  that  small  Becky,  or  the  man 
— I've  forgot  his  name  ag'in,  Paul." 

"Think  of  the  Alleghany,"  laughed  the  lad, 
"Riverius." 

"  Dern  sech  a  name  !  He  don't  git  much  breath 
into  that  'ere  horn."  And  as  he  spoke  they  came 
into  the  stumps  of  the  clearing,  and  saw  the  river 
sparkling  beyond  the  log  cabin,  and  in  the  fore- 
ground, on  a  stump,  a  short  woman's  figure,  blow- 
ing with  much  effort  a  long  tin  horn  which  gleamed 
in  the  strong  noonday  light.  The  two  woodmen 
and  the  boy  paused  a  hundred  yards  away  at  the 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  49 

snake  fence  which  kept  the  cows  in  their  pasture- 
field.  Meanwhile,  to  the  left,  the  figure  on  the 
stump  blew  again  another  blast,  unaware  that  the 
persons  she  was  thus  signalling  were  close  at  hand. 
Even  to  the  lad's  accustomed  eye  there  was  some- 
thing humorous  in  this  stout  little  creature  bal- 
ancing herself  now  and  then  with  outstretched 
arms  on  the  sloped  stump-top. 

The  two  men  as  they  presently  climbed  the  snake 
fence  came  to  a  rest  for  a  moment  on  the  upper 
rail.  The  elder  man — and  he  may  have  been  sixty- 
five  years — had  some  half-felt  sense  of  fun  in  the 
notion  of  the  fat  little  person  thus  innocently  posed 
on  the  forest  pedestal  of  a  blackened  pine  stump.  His 
dog-like  companion,  now  sunning  his  bald  round 
head,  with  his  toes  tucked  into  the  third  rail  of  the 
fence  for  comfortable  stay,  understood  all  this  well 
enough,  and  had  a  canine  capacity  for  accepting  the 
moods  of  his  friend.  His  perceptions  came  slowly, 
but  were  true  enough,  and  his  round  head  wagged 
responsive  as  the  dog's  tail,  in  cheerful,  quite  honest 
applause  and  acceptance  of  whatever  came  to  him 
from  Philetus.  He  glanced  now  in  his  habitual 
way  at  the  strong,  sombre,  blind  visage  lit  up  for  the 
moment  with  a  smile,  and  then  looked  anew  at  the 
dark  figure  exhausting  its  breath  on  the  horn.  He 
had,  unlike  his  friend,  whose  humor  was  rather 
grim,  a  natural  but  tardy  sense  of  the  mirthful 
aspects  of  life.  Slowly  now  a  grin  drew  out  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  and  spread  smooth  the  con- 
venient little  furrows  which  fell  from  them  and  were 
as  comfortable  scuppers  darkly  indicative  of  leakage 


50  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

from  excessive  quid  within.  la  a  moment  or  two 
the  gathering  fulness  of  amusement  puckered  the 
fat  cheeks  and  half  shut  the  eyes,  and  he  chuckled 
aloud.  The  giant  leaning  on  the  fence  looked  up 
with  his  changeless  areas  of  dark  eyes.  As  usual,  he 
made  haste  to  complement  his  comrade's  defect, — 
a  process  now  become  with  both  men  automatic  in 
less  as  well  as  greater  matters. 

"  Must  look  ridikelus,  to  see  a  woman  bustin5 
herself  like  that  'ere  and  gittin'  no  kind  of  decent 
sound."  He  patted  the  small  man  on  the  leg  to  call 
his  attention,  and  then  expanded  his  own  cheeks  in 
sign  of  appreciative  comment.  Then  he  twitched 
Consider's  sleeve,  which  was  at  once  comprehended 
as  a  desire  for  descriptive  help  from  his  partner's 
eyes. 

"  She's  a-rockin'  on  that  there  burnt  stump  nigh 
the  well.  Guess  Gabril  couldn't  blow  no  harder. 
And  she  don't  see  us, — she  don't,"  which  last  fact 
so  convulsed  the  small  man  that  at  length  the  graver 
woodman  of  a  sudden  broke  into  a  laugh  which 
was  volcanic  and  astounding  in  its  vigor  and  was 
heard  far  and  near. 

"  He's  a-laughin'  awful,  Paul.  I  feel  the  fence 
shake,"  said  Consider.     "  Mostly  I  kin  fetch  him." 

At  the  sound  Becky  came  down  awkwardly  from 
the  stump,  and,  after  hanging  the  tin  horn  on  a  nail 
under  the  cabin  eaves,  walked  to  the  door-way, 
whence  came  out,  also  summoned  by  the  giant's 
laugh,  Mrs.  Paul  Preston.  She  bent  to  break  off  a 
dead  leaf  or  two  from  the  little  bed  of  geraniums 
on  either  side  of  the  door-stone,  and  then  stood 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  51 

still  in  the  entrance  to  meet  the  workmen  and  her 
boy.  A  gray  linen  dress  fitting  closely  her  arms 
and  figure,  with  no  excess  of  skirts,  showed  her 
rather  unusual  height  and  notable  but  not  unwhole- 
some slightness  of  build.  The  features,  delicate  of 
model,  were  largely  fashioned.  The  complexion  was 
less  pale  than  it  had  been  a  year  ago.  An  unusual 
mass  of  dark-brown  hair  was  coiled  with  neatness 
on  the  back  of  her  head,  which  carried  its  weight 
well.  Thinness  does  not  exclude  the  chance  of  that 
grace  which  is  often  denied  to  the  essential  fulness 
of  beauty ;  and  grace  she  had,  in  motion,  voice,  and 
ways.  As  she  rose  up  from  her  little  task,  she  glanced 
quickly  at  her  hands,  hard  with  labor,  but  scrupu- 
lously clean  to  the  broken  but  spotless  nails,  and 
then  smiled,  seeing  a  spot  or  two  on  the  long  white 
apron  she  wore.  Turning  back,  she  undid  its  tie, 
threw  it  on  a  chair-back,  and,  coming  out  to  the 
cabin  door  again,  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  little 
group  which  had  paused  on  the  way. 

As  the  two  men  and  Paul  crossed  the  clearing, 
they  were  joined  by  the  German  as  to  whom  Phile- 
tus  had  so  distinctly  expressed  himself  to  Paul.  His 
straight  carriage,  and  the  long  amber-tinted  mous- 
tache on  a  face  otherwise  clean-shaven,  made  sharp 
contrast  with  the  slouching,  careless  figures  of  the 
two  woodmen.  He  gave  them  a  cheerful  good-morn- 
ing, touching  Paul  in  an  affectionate  way  on  the 
shoulder.  His  manner  was  frank  and  pleasant,  and 
gave  no  note  of  the  decisive  abruptness  he  carried 
into  affairs  or  with  which  he  issued  orders  to  those 
whom  he  instinctively  treated  as  more  or  less  in- 


52  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

telligent  machines.  He  was  probably  well  aware 
both  of  the  peculiarity  of  his  manner  and  of  its  un- 
fitness for  the  men  about  him;  but  the  ways  and 
habits  of  command  are  difficult  to  forget,  and  he 
made  less  effort  to  change  them  than  was  perhaps 
wise  or  politic. 

"Let  me  carry  your  rifle,  sir,"  said  Paul,  and 
proudly  shouldered  the  gun.  "  What  a  lot  of 
squirrels  you've  got !"  he  added. 

"  Clean  shot,"  said  Consider  Kinsman,  handling 
them  as  they  lay  where  the  hunter  had  dropped 
them  at  his  feet.  "  Two  on  'em  barked,"  he  added, 
in  the  high-pitched  voice  of  the  deaf.  "  They 
oughter  all  on  'em  been  barked." 

"  That  is  so,"  said  Kiverius.  "  Becky  will  growl 
at  the  state  they  are  in." 

"Kill  any  rattlers?"  said  Consider.  "They're 
thick  as  midges  down  Laurel  Mountain  way." 

"  I  never  kill  them.  Why  you  men  always 
murder  them  I  cannot  see.  They  never  attack 
you  unless  you  come  too  near.  They  don't  run. 
They  are  as  brave  as  any  of  you." 

Consider  gave  it  up,  unable  to  follow. 

"You're  ag'in'  Scriptures,  Mr.  Eyverus,"  said 
Philetus.  "  The  seed  of  the  woman's  got  to  bruise 
the  sarpent's  head.    It  was  so  set  in  the  beginnin'." 

"  I  admit  the  order,  but  decline  to  obey,"  returned 
the  German,  smiling.  "  Even  your  friend  Sweden- 
borg  doesn't  insist  on  it." 

"  It's  for  a  flesh  sign  of  evil.  Them  that  don:t 
slay  it  for  a  livin'  sin,  they're  a-goin'  to  let  it  live 
in  the  spirit." 


FAR  IN   THE   FOREST.  53 

"  Well,  Philetus,  the  rattlesnake  as  a  scapegoat 
is  certainly  a  novelty.  A  dozen  or  so  a  day  ought 
to  give  a  man  a  pleasant  margin  of  wickedness. 
Do  you  take  size  into  account  ?— There's  Becky. 
Pick  up  the  squirrels,  Paul." 

Philetus  made  no  reply.  He  disliked  greatly  to 
have  his  mystical  fancies  lightly  regarded.  He 
liked  as  little  the  precision  of  thought  with  which, 
in  his  graver  mood,  BAverius  met  and  overthrew 
his  theories.  The  woodman's  age  and  reputation 
for  former  prowess  with  axe  and  rifle  caused  the 
rough  men  of  the  woods  to  listen  with  mere  in- 
difference or  show  of  attention  to  Philetus  when 
in  his  moods  of  obscure  reflection  and  as  obscure 
statement,  but  in  the  German  these  raised  a  smiling 
comment  or  aroused  him  to  distinct  attack,  neither 
of  which  Philetus  liked. 

At  the  door  Mrs.  Preston  met  them,  the  men 
moving  away  towards  the  well.  "  You  have  been 
fortunate,"  she  said  to  Riverius,  glancing  at  the 
squirrels  Paul  carried. 

"  Yes,  I  had  a  pleasant  tramp." 
Then  she  turned  to  the  boy.     "  Where  are  the 
eggs  ?"  she  said. 

"  I  did  not  go  for  them,  mother." 
"  And  why  not  ?     When  you  left  me,  I  told  you 
to  go  to  Mrs.  Richmond's.     There  is  not  an  egg  in 
the  house." 

"  Philetus  said  it  was  no  use,  mother.  The  foxes, 
he  says,  have  scared  them  so  they  don't  lay  worth 
a  cent." 

"  But  I  told  you  to  go." 


54  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  I  know,  mother;  but  what  was  the  good ?" 

"  Well,  and  what  do  you  propose  to  do  about 
it?" 

"  Why,  there  isn't  anything  to  do." 

"  Indeed  !"  she  said,  quietly. 

He  cast  a  shy,  embarrassed  look  up  at  her  face. 
It  was  grave,  and  as  stern  as  gentle  nature  let  it  be. 
He  got  no  comfort  from  his  study,  and  went  away 
in  silence  around  the  cabin. 

Meanwhile,  Consider  let  down  the  bucket  on  its 
balanced  pole  into  the  shallow  well,  and  presently 
both  workmen,  having  partaken  of  water  within 
and  without,  went  to  the  kitchen  door,  back  of 
which,  on  a  permanently-placed  roller,  hung  a 
rough  towel,  of  which  each  made  use.  When 
they  looked  out,  the  boy  was  not  in  sight,  but  the 
mother  with  Riverius  was  waiting  for  them  at  the 
well. 

"  Philetus  Richmond,"  she  said,  "  you  should 
not  have  kept  that  boy  from  doing  what  I  told  him 
to  do." 

Truth  was  a  part  of  the  old  fellow's  essential  life. 
He  answered,  frankly,  "  Well,  ma'am,  fact  was, 
I  were  a  mawsel  lonesome,  not  havin'  Consider 
handy,  and — well,  the  foxes  has  bin  a-furagin'." 

"  It  must  not  happen  again,"  she  said. 

"No,  ma'am,"  he  returned,  meekly,  while  the 
deaf  man  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  puzzled. 

"  Come  in  to  dinner,"  she  added,  and,  as  they 
followed,  Riverius  approached  her. 

"  Where  is  Paul  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  know.     I  am  vexed  with  him.     All 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  55 

the  men  spoil  him.  I  must  get  him  away  from 
here." 

"  I  will  go  over  this  afternoon  and  bring  what 
eggs  there  are."  He  spoke  with  a  barely  percepti- 
ble German  accent,  and  the  tones  were  refined. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  Come  in.  Becky  is  away,  so 
I  cooked  myself:  indeed,  myself  is  pretty  well 
cooked.  As  to  the  potatoes,  I  am  in  doubt;  but 
Becky  made  the  pie.     Come  in." 

The  log  house  was  comfortable  enough.  Within, 
the  walls  were  clay-plastered  to  fill  the  chinks,  and 
then  covered  with  splints  or  axe-hewn  boards  from 
the  outer  side  of  logs.  Over  these,  in  the  rather 
ample  sitting-room,  Mrs.  Preston,  with  aid  from 
Paul,  had  laboriously  tacked  large  rolls  of  ruddy 
and  gray  birch-bark.  Kough  planks  across  the 
timbers  gave  the  unusual  luxury  of  a  ceiling,  like 
the  walls  birch-covered,  above  which  in  the  loft 
slept  Paul,  except  when  the  winters  drove  him  to 
sleep  below  in  the  common  sitting-room.  A  huge 
fireplace  of  unhewn  granite  rocks  projected  from 
the  farther  wall.  Above,  on  a  chimney-plank,  were 
the  two  candlesticks  which  had  attracted  the  Ger- 
man's notice.  The  chairs  were  ugly  and  solid ;  the 
table,  a  product  of  some  woodcraftsman's  tools,  was 
strong  and  grimly  useful.  In  curious  contrast,  the 
Raphael  Morghen  of  Guido's  Crucifixion  hung  in  a 
worn  frame  on  the  wall,  the  sole  ornament.  Here 
and  there,  however,  on  the  birch-bark,  a  brush  of 
unusual  skill  had  been  busy,  and  had  scattered 
about,  in  odd  caprice,  admirably-rendered  portraits 
of  golden-rod,  asters,  dogwood-blossoms,  and  cardi- 


56  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

nal  flowers.  Over  the  chimney  a  mass  of  sheep- 
laurel  and  the  larger  rhododendrons  was  still 
unfinished.  All  were  dimly  visible  by  the  light 
which  entered  scantily  through  gnarled  panes  of 
glass  which  distorted  the  landscape  without  into 
singular  deformity.  On  one  side  opened  the 
bedroom  of  the  owner,  and  outside  was  a  rough 
kitchen,  above  which  the  woman  Becky  slept, 
unless  the  intense  cold  of  winter  drove  her,  like 
Paul,  to  a  shake-down  on  the  floor  of  the  room  be- 
neath. However  primitive,  this  wTas  probably  the 
best  house  for  miles  around,  and  its  owner  a  person 
socially  and  in  education  far  above  any  of  her 
neighbors. 

The  table  was  spread,  not  in  the  kitchen,  as  usual, 
but  in  the  sitting-room,  to  escape  the  heat  which  a 
July  day  made  more  than  sufficient.  There  was 
no  cloth.  A  dish  of  trout,  a  bit  of  bacon  with 
eggs,  the  potatoes  as  to  which  Mrs.  Preston  had 
expressed  doubts,  an  apple-pie,  set  all  at  once  on 
the  well-scrubbed  board,  made  up  the  meal.  As 
they  stood  a  moment,  Biverius  stroked  his  tawny 
moustache,  looked  up  and  said  aloud,  with  distinct- 
ness, "  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread."  Then 
they  sat  down.  The  silver  forks  marked  with  a 
worn  crest  alone  distinguished  the  meal  from  that 
of  any  forest  home  on  the  swift  Alleghany.  Phi- 
letus  took  his  fork  in  his  fist,  with  a  certain  awk- 
wardness, and  mentally  surveyed  the  instrument, 
wishing  that  he  had  what  he  called  a  real  fork. 
Consider  helped  him  with  care,  at  times  glancing 
at   the   plate   to   see   that  he   had  enough.      The 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  57 

meal  went  on  rather  quietly;  a  sense  of  entire 
social  equality  was  the  forest  custom,  and  employer 
and  employed  lived  and  ate  together  in  a  common 
life  of  mutual  respect,  but  almost  absolute  famili- 
arity of  relation.  A  certain  undefined  quality  in  the 
ways  and  manners  of  Mrs.  Preston  was,  however, 
felt  and  acknowledged  by  the  rough  men  with 
whom  she  was  so  much  in  contact.  Her  husband 
when  alive  was  to  them  simply  Paul  Preston,  and, 
little  as  he  relished  the  fashion,  soon  gave  up  all 
form  of  protest ;  but  his  wife  was  Mrs.  Preston  to 
all,  and,  to  some  of  the  older  Eew-Englanders, 
Madam,  after  the  now  extinct  usage,  a  survival  of 
colonial  days.  It  amused  her  a  little,  but  she  did 
not  dislike  the  distinction. 

"  Where  is  that  boy  V  at  last  said  Biverius.  "  He 
has  a  fierce  young  stomach.     Shall  I  call  him  ?" 

"No,"  said  the  mother.    "  I  would  rather  not." 

Consider,  as  usual,  seeming  to  know  what  was 
going  on,  caught  at  the  name.  "  Might  Paul  go 
with  me  to  ketch  hell-benders  Saturday  ?  I've  been 
a-promisin'  him.    I  know  whar  ther's  a  lot  on  'em." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  What  are  hell-benders,  please  ?"  said  Eiverius. 
"  Certainly  the  name  does  not  assist  one." 

"  Sorter  small  dragon  beast,  lives  in  the  mud," 
answered  Philetus. 

At  this  moment  the  lad  broke  into  the  room,  his 
eyes  a  little  red,  his  face  flushed.  "  Keep  me  some 
dinner,  mother.  I'm  going  over  to  Miriam  Rich- 
mond's after  those  blessed  eggs." 

She  rose  up  and  kissed  him. 


58  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  And  some  pie,  mother." 

She  sat  down.     "  "Where's  your  hat,  Paul  ?" 

"  Oh  I"  he  said,  smiling,  and  doffed  his  head- 
cover.     "  Good-by." 

At  the  door  he  looked  back,  and  the  two  pair  of 
cloud-blue  eyes  met  and  said  to  one  another,  "  We 
understand  :  unpleasant,  this,  but  necessary." 


CHAPTER    V. 

A  moment  later  Paul  was  away,  gayly  jumping 
the  stumps  as  he  went,  and  with  a  keen  desire  for 
the  dinner  he  had  left  behind.  Once  past  the 
snake  fence,  he  left  the  ox-road,  and  without  hesi- 
tation passed  into  the  dense  forest.  Presently  he 
stopped,  took  off  his  jacket,  undid  the  suspenders, 
and,  using  them  as  a  strap  to  sustain  the  coat  and 
compress  the  expostulatory  cravings  of  a  boy's 
empty  interior,  set  off  again  at  a  steady  trot  with- 
out hesitation  through  what  would  have  been  for 
a  city-bred  boy  a  pathless  wilderness.  There  was 
much  of  the  mother  in  the  lad,  and  this  perhaps 
made  it  easier  for  her  to  influence  him  than  it 
would  have  been  for  any  one  without  a  personal 
key  to  the  complicated  lock  of  character.  Some 
boys  are  best  in  the  hands  of  men,  but  there  are 
others  who  prosper  better  when  controlled  by 
women  who  understand  them  and  whose  natures 
admit  of  none  of  the  compromises  to  which  men 
are  more  apt  to  be  subject.  The  lad  was  of  a  cer- 
tain resoluteness  which  grew  to  obstinacy  in  the 
face  of  opposition.  Active  resistance  excited  him 
into  unreason,  but  the  passive  feminine  steadiness 
of  a  woman  merely  stopped  him  like  a  wall  which 
arrests  one  but  is  not  actively  antagonistic.  Then 
always,  soon  or  late,  his  passionate  admiration  for 
the  mother  and  his  warm  affection  did  the  rest.    It 


60  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

was  well  for  him  that  the  life  of  cities  was  to  come 
later.  He  was  fortunate  in  that  friendly  Nature 
took  a  hand  in  his  education.  Existence  in  this 
wild  land  was  hard,  but  awakened  no  passions,  had 
no  feeders  for  the  personal  pride  from  which  reso- 
lute and  yet  refined  characters  may  suffer  under 
the  influences  of  social  and  other  forms  of  adversity. 
The  people  about  him  were  mostly  adults,  and  too 
plainly  his  superiors  in  one  and  another  way  for 
comparison.  He  had,  like  all  boys  worth  anything, 
his  childish  ideals,  and  in  one  or  another  of  those 
near  him  found  enough  for  good  example. 

He  paused  a  minute  to  breathe  as  he  crossed  a 
deserted  clearing  and  passed  near  a  ruined  cabin. 
Suddenly  his  eyes  flashed,  and  he  smiled.  Under 
the  eaves  was  a  huge  gray  mass  like  a  crumpled 
ball  of  gray  wrapping-paper,  a  great  hornet-nest. 
He  seized  a  stone  and  with  unerring  skill  sent  it 
into  the  hive,  and,  shouting  defiance,  fled  with  a 
hundred  winged  and  wrathful  warriors  after  him. 
They  went  by,  missing  him,  with  a  ping,  ping,  like 
bullets.  Then  he  cried,  "  Oh !"  as  a  happier  shot 
struck  fair  in  the  back  of  his  neck,  and  he  hesitated 
whether  or  not  to  drop  safely  in  a  bed  of  ferns,  but 
his  habitual  inborn  hatred  of  defeat  came  upper- 
most, and,  seizing  a  dogwood  bougb,  he  broke  it, 
and,  turning,  faced  the  foe  as  he  struck  to  right 
and  left.  Half  a  minute  ended  it,  and  he  sat  by  a 
little  puddle  on  a  stump  and  counted  up  his  wounds. 
There  was  one  on  the  lip  that  hurt  and  promised  to 
swell  nobly,  one  on  the  cheek,  and  a  very  unpleas- 
ant one  somewhere  inside  his  trousers  from  a  too  en- 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  gj 

terprising  hornet.  He  applied  a  little  mud  to  each 
wound,  and  at  last  extracted  the  dead  hornet  which 
had  caused  him  a  moment  of  anguished  dance  such 
as  a  dervish  might  have  envied.  He  had  not  quite 
run  away,  and,  pleased  with  himself,  he  made  note 
of  an  intention  to  come  back  and  have  it  out  with  the 
enemy,  which  had  now  returned  to  its  stronghold. 
A  half-hour  more  brought  him  to  a  slope,  on  which, 
as  usual  amid  mouldered  stumps  and  backed  by 
waving  corn-pennons,  was  the  cabin  of  Philetus 
Richmond. 

Some  fifteen  years  before,  Philetus,  a  man  of 
fifty,  well  preserved  and  not  yet  blind,  was  for  a 
few  days  in  a  small  inn  at  Harrisburg.  Thither 
they  brought  from  a  travelling  dramatic  company 
an  actress  not  over  twenty  years  of  age  and  sud- 
denly taken  ill  with  a  fever,  and  here  they  left  her. 
Very  soon  her  money  was  exhausted.  Philetus 
had  seen  her  play  when  for  the  first  and  last  time 
he  had  been  present  in  a  theatre.  The  story  of  her 
misery  moved  his  heart.  The  possible  fall  from 
the  magnificent  being  he  had  beheld  in  her  glory 
as  Ophelia  to  a  probable  death  in  the  poor-house 
troubled  him.  He  helped  her  quietly  out  of  his 
small  savings,  and  at  last,  when  she  was  still  feeble 
and  had  before  her  the  sad  prospect  of  a  long  and 
tedious  convalescence,  he  further  aided  her  to  find 
a  temporary  home.  She  was  but  a  third-rate  actress 
in  a  strolling  company,  and  with  no  near  relations 
who  cared  to  help  her.  When  Philetus  had 
seen  her  act  Ophelia,  she  had  merely  taken  the 
place  of  another  and  better  performer  for  a  time. 


(J2  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Her  usual  roles  were  unimportant,  and  her  wages 
small.  When  the  sturdy  woodman  at  last  found 
courage  to  ask  her  to  marry  him,  her  overestimate 
of  her  own  chances  on  the  stage  was  the  chief  op- 
ponent influence.  Gratitude,  isolation,  poverty, 
may  all  have  affected  her  final  decision,  but  the 
physical  stateliness  of  this  ample-shouldered  giant, 
still  strong  and  vigorous,  had  also  a  share.  Cer- 
tainly she  loved  him  at  last,  despite  the  disparity  in 
years.  She  had  little  education  except  such  as  a 
common  actress  might  get  from  her  stage  training 
and  experience,  and,  being  intensely  feminine, 
slight  and  pretty,  was,  like  such  women,  allured 
by  a  profoundly  masculine  temperament.  Ac- 
customed to  manual  work  in  her  youth,  she  took 
kindly  to  the  conditions  of  her  forest  life,  and  if  at 
times  she  had  moments  of  regret  and  longing  for 
the  foot-lights,  she  usually  concealed  or  set  them 
aside,  and  perhaps  remembered  too  well  her  former 
trials  and  uncertainties.  The  life  was  less  lonely 
when  some  years  later  a  little  girl  was  born.  Soon 
after  Philetus  became  hopelessly  blind,  and  then 
all  that  was  best  in  his  wife  was  gradually  called 
out  in  varied  shapes  of  helpfulness.  The  little 
money  he  had  spent  to  help  her  years  before  was  a 
good  investment,  and  there  was  enough  of  mutual 
admiration  to  flavor  the  love  which  the  child  served 
to  knit  anew  with  ties  which  grew  increasingly 
stronger  year  by  year.  Like  many  men  who  marry 
much  younger  women,  he  was  more  or  less  jealous, 
a  peculiarity  intensified  by  the  suspiciousness  from 
which  the  blind  rarely  escape  altogether.     Except 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  63 

for  its  occasional  hardships,  her  married  life  brought 
her  but  one  grave  trouble.  Very  early  she  learned 
to  her  cost  that  her  sturdy  mate  was  incapable  of 
taking  a  single  glass  of  liquor  without  being  morally 
poisoned.  He  knew  and  hated  this  single  weak- 
ness, but  could  at  times  be  led  into  self-indulgence. 
Since  Mrs.  Preston's  arrival,  Philetus's  wife  had, 
however,  a  potent  ally,  and  the  two  women,  con- 
scious of  their  respective  burdens,  had  for  each 
other  a  friendly  regard  quite  curious  in  two  per- 
sons so  far  apart  in  many  ways. 

As  the  boy  came  near  the  cabin,  he  heard  at  a 
distance  Mrs.  Richmond's  voice  in  tones  of  angry 
remonstrance.  He  paused.  A  lumberman  in  rough 
linsey-woolsey  and  high  boots  was  standing  just 
within  the  door-way,  a  broad,  squarely-built  man, 
slightly  bow-legged,  as  Paul  saw  him  from  behind. 
Again  Miriam  Richmond's  voice,  high-pitched  in 
wrath,  was  heard  by  Paul : 

"  No,  he's  not  at  home,  Ance  Yickers ;  and  if  he 
was,  he  shouldn't  go  to  work  at  Smith's  with  you, 
I  tell  you  that." 

The  lad  paused,  a  little  surprised,  somewhat  in- 
terested. Moreover,  the  burly  woodman's  figure 
blocked  the  door- way,  and  Paul  hesitated  to  go  by. 

"You  alius  keep  a-thinkin'  I  want  to  git  your 
man  into  trouble." 

"  Yes,  you  give  him  whiskey,  that's  what  you  do." 

"But  ef  you'd  jus'  listen,  Myry " 

"And  I  won't  listen.  You  go  away,  that's  all.  I 
command  you  to  depart,"  said  the  ex-actress,  who 
was  apt  when  roused  to  recall  the  foot-lights. 

5 


64  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  An'  what  ef  I  ain't  minded  to  go  ?  Ther' 
ain't  no  one  I  likes  well's  you.  Ther'  ain't  no 
woman  I  likes  as  much.  You  'ain't  no  call  to  talk 
fierce  to  me." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  liked  by  any  one  but  my 
husband.  Now  get  out  of  this  at  once.  You  are 
the  only  man  can  make  Phil  drink.  One  way  and 
another,  you're  driving  me  hard,  Ance  Vickers.  Do 
you  hear  ?  Out  of  that  door  with  you !  Lord,  if  I 
was  a  man,  I'd  kill  you,  you  drunken  sot." 

"  Now,  for  the  nicest  woman  on  the  Alleghany 
to  be  a-talkin'  that  'ere  way!  Let's  make  up, 
Myry."  And,  so  saying,  he  moved  into  the  room, 
a  look  of  maudlin  affection  in  his  face. 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  come  near  me  !"  said  Miriam. 
Close  after  him  followed  Paul. 

"  Ah !"  she  added,  much  relieved.  "  That's  you, 
Paul  Preston.  Come  in."  Her  rage  was  still  high, 
and  she  foolishly  said,  "  If  you  were  a  man  I'd  just 
ask  you  to  kick  that  drunken  cur  out  of  my  cabin." 

"  What's  the  row  ?"  said  the  boy,  surveying  the 
shock  of  red  beard,  the  close-cropped  stubble  of  the 
head,  ruddy  as  autumn  buckwheat,  and  the  liquor- 
reddened  eyes. 

"  Ther'  ain't  no  row." 

"  Would  be  if  Philetus  was  here,"  said  Miriam. 

"  You're  pretty  drunk,  Ance,"  said  the  boy,  with 
all  the  courage  of  his  opinions. 

"  That's  so,"  added  Miriam. 

"  You  crow  pretty  loud  for  a  small  bantam.  For 
mighty  little,  I'd  shingle  you  well." 

The  boy  flushed.     "  You  couldn't  catch  me  in  a 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  65 

week."  And  he  glanced  about,  ready  for  a  prudent 
retreat. 

"  You'll  keep,"  returned  Ance ;  "  and  mind  you 
git  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  ef  you  don't  want  a 
lickin'.     That's  all." 

"  If  I  tell  Phil  you've  been  abusing  Myry,  some- 
body else  will  get  a  licking,"  cried  the  lad,  feeling 
all  the  insult  of  Ance's  threat. 

"  Try  it  ef  you  jus'  dare,"  said  Ance,  looking 
furious,  and  not  quite  liking  the  threat. 

"  Oh,  he  ain't  been  abusing  me,"  added  Miriam, 
quickly.  "You  mind  }^our  own  business,  Paul.  I 
can  talk  to  Phil  when  it's  wanted."  At  which 
Paul,  rather  puzzled  and  a  little  hurt,  was  suddenly 
silenced. 

"  I  didn't  go  to  hurt  you,  Myry,"  said  Ance. 
u  I'm  your  friend,  I  am."  And  he  smiled  in  the 
silly  confidential  way  of  the  man  a  trifle  overloaded 
with  whiskey.  "  Good-by,  and  jus'  you  think  it 
over  about  Smith's.  Good-by,  Myry."  And,  so 
saying,  he  found  his  way  out  and  slowly  meandered 
among  the  stumps  and  down  the  slope.  The  boy 
glanced  after  him  and  then  turned.  "  Don't  cry," 
he  said.     "  He's  no  good." 

"  He  has  been  here  twice  to-day.     If  I  was  to  tell 

Phil Come  here.     You're  a  brave  boy.     You 

weren't  afraid  of  him,  were  you  ?" 

"  I  guess  not." 

Miriam  kissed  him, — a  thing  he  loathed.  She 
was  rather  fond  of  this  mode  of  expressing  her  re- 
gard for  the  boy,  and  now  he  skilfully  got  the  table 
between  them  to  avoid  repetition  of  the  dose. 


QQ  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  I  wish  he  had  tried  it  on,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"  You'd  have  seen  some  fun.  He's  not  half  as  bad 
as  hornets." 

"Sol  see.  I've  got  some  eggs  for  your  mother. 
They're  in  the  basket.  Now,  don't  you  go  after  hor- 
nets any,  or  you'll  break  them ;  and  don't  you  tell 
Phil  Ance  Yickers  was  here." 

"All  right;  but  I  don't  see  why.  I'd  lick  him 
well  if  I  was  Phil.  Good-by."  As  he  set  foot  on 
the  fence,  he  heard  her  call,  "  Paul  Preston  !" 

"  Halloo !"  She  came  slowly  over  the  field, 
buxom,  rosy,  and  very  straight;  at  times  a  re- 
membrance of  the  stage  in  her  movements.  The 
boy  settled  himself  upon  his  perch  on  the  fence-top, 
watching  her  with  a  certain  sense  of  satisfaction  at 
her  full  rounded  form,  liking  it  as  he  liked  the  sun 
of  a  cold  day. 

"  You  did  not  well  to  make  me  tramp  hither, 
Paul.  Why  did  not  you  come  to  meet  me  when  I 
summoned  you?" 

Paul  had  ceased  to  be  surprised  at  her  lapses  into 
a  style  of  speech  above  the  familiar  occasion.  With 
due  respect  for  the  eggs,  he  got  to  the  ground,  a 
queer,  amused  glimmer  of  fun  on  his  face.  "  The  fact 
is,  Mrs.  Richmond,  I  forgot.     I — I  was  thinking." 

"  And  pray,  sir,  of  what  ?" 

He  had  a  little  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  the 
statement  her  question  should  have  called  forth. 

"  Well  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  I  was  thinking  you  looked " 

There  was  still  much  of  the  child  in  the  woman. 
She  urged, "  What  ?  how  do  I  look  ?"  and  advanced 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  67 

so  that  Paul,  in  dread  of  another  kiss,  found  him- 
self cornered  in  the  fence-angle  with  an  awkward 
explanation  in  front,  a  more  awkward  basket  of 
eggs  as  impedimenta,  and  no  chance  of  a  dignified 
and  safe  retreat. 

""Well,  I  was  thinking  of  you." 

"  Ah  !"  she  cried,  cunningly  expectant.  "  And 
what  did  you  think  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  just  thought  you  were  awful  handsome. 
There's  stuff  like  your  hair  grows  down  by  Bond's 
brook."     And  he  flushed  like  a  girl. 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?"  said  Miriam.  "  I  ain't  what  I 
was."  She  would  have  liked  to  make  clear  to  him 
how  pleased  she  really  was,  not  lacking  pride  in 
her  appearanc%  and  in  the  rather  tumbled  gold  of 
her  hair,  but  no  phrase  came  to  lip  which  seemed 
to  her  fitting,  and  by  this  time,  taking  base  advan- 
tage of  her  doubt,  he  had  wriggled  through  the  fence. 
There  he  enjoyed  her  embarrassed  look  in  security. 

"  I  ain't  what  I  was,"  she  repeated,  half  sadly. 

"  Mother  says  when  you're  with  Phely,  you  just 
get  beautiful." 

"  Oh,  Paul !" 

«  She  did.     She  said  so.     Where  is  Phely  ?" 

"Asleep,  I  guess.  She's  been  huckleberryin', 
and  got  tired.  Come  over  and  play  with  her  soon, 
and  tell  mother  I'll  be  along  Sunday  for  sure.  And, 
oh,  here's  what  I  wanted.  Mind  you  don't  tell 
Philetus  about  that  Anson  Vickers.     Promise  me." 

The  kiss  was  not  yet  fully  avenged,  and  he  felt 
disposed  to  tease  h,er.  iCI  don't  know.  He  might 
ask  me." 


68  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  Oh,  he  won't,  Paul.  Look  here,  you  mustn't. 
There'd  be  trouble.     Now  promise  me." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  quickly,  glancing  somewhat 
puzzled  at  her  anxious  face.     "  I  won't." 

"  Thank  you.  I'll  have  dumplings  for  you  when 
you  come  over." 

"I  don't  care  for  dumplings,"  he  said.  The 
statement  was  hardly  correct,  but  he  felt  the  notion 
of  the  bribe  to  be  incompatible  with  his  dignity. 
"  I  said  I  wouldn't,  and  I  won't.     Good-by." 

He  went  down  the  slope  to  the  little  brook  below, 
paused  to  turn  over  a  stone  or  two  in  search  of 
crayfish,  and  passed  into  the  wood.  On  the  whole, 
he  felt  cheerfully  contented  with  himself,  and  went 
along  whistling  until  he  came  into  the  deserted 
clearing.  There  he  paused  abruptly.  "  Oh !"  he 
exclaimed,  a  sudden  gleam  of  mischief  in  his  face. 
"  He'll  spank  me,  will  he  ?"  Sound  asleep  in  the 
shadow  of  the  hut  lay  his  enemy,  Ance  Viekers, 
very  red,  very  hot,  and  unconscious  of  the  mos- 
quitoes, who  were  engaged  in  a  reckless  debauch 
on  the  dilution  of  corn  whiskey  in  his  heated  veins. 
"  Great  Scott,  won't  he  scratch  to-morrow  ?"  said 
the  boy  to  himself.  The  situation  was  too  tempting 
for  the  human  nature  of  any  reasonably  constituted 
lad.  He  went  quietly  into  the  woods,  deposited  the 
basket  in  a  thicket,  cut  a  long  stick,  and  watchfully 
returned  to  the  cabin.  There  he  paused  in  antici- 
pative  delight.  His  strong  foe,  whom  the  Delilah 
whiskey  had  given  over  into  the  hands  of  the  young 
Philistine,  lay,  face  upward,  unconscious  in  the  yet 
vigorous  sun  of  a  failing  day  of  July.     Above  him, 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  (39 

but  a  few  feet  away,  the  gray  hornet-citadel  seemed 
tranquil  enough,  and  but  a  little  the  worse  for  re- 
cent war.  Around  it  a  half-dozen  watchful  senti- 
nels crawled  or  flew.  Surveying  the  situation,  Paul 
reflected.  He  would  stand  at  the  corner  of  the 
cabin,  stir  up  the  gray  fortress,  and,  having  thus 
brought  about  a  personal  difficulty  between  Ance 
and  the  hornets,  leave  the  man  and  the  winged 
lancers  to  settle  it,  whilst  he,  in  noiseless  mocca- 
sins, sped  away  from  danger.  It  was  well  planned, 
and,  after  boy-law,  a  righteous  retribution, — skill 
and  opportunity  against  insult  and  brute  force. 
His  allies,  the  hornets,  were  sure  to  insist,  after 
the  lynch-law  fashion  of  the  woods,  on  the  nearest 
man  as  the  guilty  one.  But  that  Ance  should  suffer 
without  knowing  who  punished  him  would  leave  the 
matter  rather  incomplete,  so  far  as  the  boy  was  con- 
cerned. Moreover,  he  must  tell  some  one,  for  not 
to  share  the  fun  of  it  with  another  was  a  thing  not 
to  be  thought  of.  It  might  be  Riverius  he  would 
tell.  But  to  confess  to  that  gentleman  how  he  had 
smitten  his  foe  at  second  hand  and  run  away  was 
not  so  pleasant  to  think  of  as  he  recalled  certain 
looks  and  words  with  which  the  German  had  re- 
ceived some  story  of  trick  or  stratagem  which  set 
the  winter  camp-fires  in  a  roar  of  applause.  That 
settled  it  for  Paul.  The  next  moment,  as  he  would 
have  said,  he  prodded  Ance  Yickers  sharply  with 
the  staff  he  had  just  cut.  The  sleeper  groaned, 
rolled  over,  and  muttered,  "  Myry  Richmond,  she's 
the  gal." 

"George,  but  that's  fun!'   said  Paul  to  himself. 


70  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  Here  goes."  At  a  second  rather  savage  dig  in 
the  shoulder  from  the  boy  behind  him,  now  alert 
and  grimly  watchful,  Ance  sat  up,  rubbing  his 
eyes  and  groping  about  for  his  straw  hat.  "  Oh, 
dern  them  skeeters !"  he  said.  At  this  moment 
Paul  thrust  his  stick  through  the  nest,  and,  crying 
aloud,  "  Take  a  shingle  to  me  now,  Ance  Vickers," 
fled  around  the  cabin,  and  a  hundred  yards  away 
turned  to  reckon  the  fruits  of  his  victory.  The  re- 
sult was  all  that  could  be  desired.  The  red  shock 
of  hair  was  full  of  hornets.  They  were  down 
the  man's  neck,  up  his  sleeves,  in  his  breeches. 
Every  boy  has  wondered  how  they  get  there.  For 
a  brief  moment  Ance  was  in  doubt  as  to  both 
cause  and  consequence,  the  result  somewhat  dis- 
turbing his  power  to  attend  to  its  author.  It  was 
a  novel  means  of  sobering  a  man,  but,  as  usual 
with  great  inventions,  brought  the  author  small 
share  of  gratitude.  Ance  leaped  to  his  feet,  tore 
at  his  hair  and  beard,  slapped  with  frantic  gestures 
at  mysterious  sharp-shooters  under  his  breeches, 
and  danced  with  a  wild  agility  which  Paul  felt  to 
be  far  beyond  his  own  recent  performance. 

"  Take  a  shingle,  Ance,"  cried  the  maker  of  the 
mischief. 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  even  with  you !  Oh !"  and  he  swore 
fiercely.  "  Jus'  wait !"  And  with  that  he  started 
at  unexpected  speed  after  the  boy,  who  fled  reeling 
with  laughter  and  with  no  intention  of  abiding  the 
onset. 

"  Catch  me  first!"  he  cried,  and  was  away  down 
the  slope  as  fast  as  a  pair  of  active  legs  could  take 


FAR  IN   THE  FOREST.  71 

him,  the  foe  in  deadly  earnest  hard  after  him  and 
a  furious  train  of  attentive  hornets  in  the  rear. 
Now,  when  a  man  has  in  front  just  cause  for  venge- 
ful haste  and  after  him  equal  urgencies  in  the  shape 
of  legions  of  angry  hornets,  even  a  little  too  much 
whiskey  may  not  retard  him  greatly;  and  Ance 
had  slept  off  a  fair  amount  of  his  drunkenness.  For 
a  while  the  race  was  pretty  even.  The  youngster 
douhlecl  and  turned,  and,  coming  to  an  open  pine 
grove,  ran  across  it  like  a  deer.  Then  there  was 
undergrowth,  and  the  strong  woodman  had  the 
advantage  as  the  panting  boy  struggled  through  it, 
wishing  he  had  taken  a  longer  start  of  his  foe,  but 
still  impenitent  enough.  At  last,  looking  back,  he 
saw  that  furious  red  face  within  twenty  yards,  and 
felt  that  his  own  wind  was  almost  gone.  Under 
ordinary  circumstances  he  would  have  stopped  and 
faced  the  enemy,  being  a  gallant  little  fellow,  but 
a  second  glance  at  the  ferocious  visage,  now  lit  up 
with  security  of  vengeance,  decided  him.  He  did 
not  like  the  man's  looks.  Instantly  selecting  a 
tree,  Paul  swarmed  up  it  with  his  last  remnant  of 
strength,  and  was  well  out  of  reach  before  Ance 
stood  beneath  him.  Catching  a  full  breath,  Paul 
reached  a  branch,  swung  himself  up  to  a  second, 
and  at  last  sat  secure  in  the  maple  leaves  twenty 
feet  above  his  pursuer,  who  stood  silent  and  grim, 
for  a  moment  breathing  too  hard  to  speak.  Paul 
could  see  him,  but  he  himself  was  partly  hidden  by 
the  thick  intervening  foliage  between  them.  With 
new  belief  in  his  security,  the  boy's  spirits  rose, 
and  with  them  his  natural  sense  of  fun. 


72  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  Pretty  comfortable  up  here,  Ance." 

"  I'll  make  you  comfortable  right  soon,"  said  the 
man.     "  Wait  till  I  git  a  few  stones." 

Paul  laughed,  but  did  not  altogether  like  it. 
"  Fire  away,"  he  said,  boldly.  A  small  stone  went 
by  his  head,  then  another,  and  at  last  one  barked 
his  shin.  It  hurt,  but  he  only  said,  "  You're  a 
mean  cuss,  Ance  Vickers,  to  stone  a  boy.  Wait 
till  I  tell  Phil  Richmond  what  I  heard  you  say  to 
Myry."  He  had  no  idea  of  telling,  but  the  situa- 
tion was  grave.  The  next  moment  he  regretted 
the  indiscretion. 

"  You  won't  never  tell  on  me,"  returned  Ance. 
"I'm  comin'  up  to  finish  you.  This  here  joke's 
lasted  jus'  long  'nough.  You'd  best  say  your 
prayers." 

Paul  trembled,  but  climbed  higher. 

"  It's  no  use.  I'll  git  you."  The  angry  man 
tore  off  his  coat,  pulled  off"  his  long  boots,  and 
began  with  dreadful  ease  to  climb  the  tree. 

Paul  called  a  truce.  "  If  I  come  down,  what 
will  you  do  ?" 

"  Kill  you,  by !"  said  the  man,  brutally.   "  I 

won't  have  no  tales  told  on  me." 

How  far  the  lumberman  was  in  earnest,  and 
how  far  merely  disposed  to  frighten  him,  Paul 
could  not  know.  Ance  had  a  bad  record  as  a 
man  rather  merciless  when  excited  with  anger  and 
whiskey.  Just  now  the  lad's  threat  had  alarmed 
and  irritated  him,  and,  while  Paul  may  have  over- 
estimated Ance's  desire  for  cruel  vengeance,  it  is 
pretty  sure  that  the  man's  sense  of  accumulated 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  73 

wrong  left  him  little  self-control.  Terrified,  Paul 
climbed  higher,  and  at  last  crawled  out  on  a  large 
limb  almost  as  far  as  he  dared  to  go.  Ance,  now 
silent,  was  within  ten  feet  of  him,  and  began  also 
with  a  good  deal  of  caution  to  follow  the  boy,  his 
greater  height  enabling  the  man  to  stand  on  a 
lower  branch  and  thus  to  distribute  his  weight  as 
he  moved,  hand  beyond  hand,  towards  the  boy. 
Meanwhile,  Paul  was  edging  along  on  top  of  his 
limb,  fiercely  gripping  it  with  legs  and  arms.  At 
last  Ance  was  too  far  out  to  keep  safe  footing  on 
the  branch  below  him.  The  limb  above  was  crack- 
ing with  the  double  weight.  Both  were  silent,  but 
very  warily  the  man  inch  by  inch  came  nearer. 
"  You'll  kill  us  both,"  said  Paul.  "  It  won't  hold." 
Ance  said  nothing.  Paul  let  go  with  one  hand, 
got  a  penknife  out  of  his  pocket,  opened  it  with 
his  teeth,  and  said,  "  If  you  come  nearer,  I'll  cut 
your  hand."  "  Cut  away,"  cried  Ance.  The  boy 
raised  his  arm :  the  red  hairy  hand  was  almost 
within  touch  of  him.  At  this  moment  a  loud 
voice  rang  out  below. 

"  Halloo !  what's  all  this  about  ?  Let  that  boy 
alone,  I  say."  Ance  looked  down.  The  tall  form 
and  blond  moustache  of  John  Riverius  were  visible 
through  the  swaying  leafage. 

"  Not  till  I  ketch  him,"  cried  Ance.  "  You  ain't 
the  man  to  stop  Ance  Vickers." 

Riverius  took  in  the  danger  of  the  situation  in  a 
moment. 

"  Der  Teufel !"  he  cried.  The  sharp  double 
click  of  the  cock  was  heard  distinctly.     "I've  got 


74  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

you  covered,"  he  cried,  as  he  raised  his  rifle.  "  As 
surely  as  I  live,  you  are  a  lost  man  if  you  are  not 
down  out  of  that  tree  in  a  minute." 

Ance  lost  no  time.  There  was  deadly  earnest- 
ness in  the  voice  of  Riverius.  "  I'll  come,"  said 
Ance,  and  proceeded  to  descend,  followed  by  the 
boy,  now  pale  and  shaking  from  the  effects  of  im- 
mense physical  exertion  and  mental  strain.  Ance 
set  his  back  to  the  tree  and  folded  his  arms  as  Paul 
swung  out  on  a  lower  branch  and  dropped  beside 
his  protector. 

"What's  all  this  about?"  said  Riverius. 

"  Ask  him,"  returned  Ance,  sullenly.  "  I  won't 
forget  either  one  of  you.  You  look  out.  That's 
all." 

"  Pshaw !"  said  Riverius.  "  I  can  take  care  of 
myself  and  of  him  too.  Mein  Gott,  what  a  beast 
you  must  be  to  bully  a  boy  like  that !" 

"  Rifles  talk  big,"  said  Ance. 

The  German  turned,  set  the  rifle  against  a  tree 
back  of  him,  half  cocking  it  as  he  did  so,  threw 
off  his  coat  quietly,  and  turned. 

"  Now,  my  man,  the  rifle's  done  talking.  What 
next?" 

"  Oh,  don't !"  said  Paul.  "  He'll  kill  you.  He's 
the  best  wrestler  on  the  river.  Oh,  please  don't ! 
I'll  let  him  lick  me." 

"  Stuff!"  said  Riverius.  Then,  to  the  surprise 
of  both,  Ance  replied,  "  I  ain't  got  no  quarrel  with 
you,  Ryverus.  You  jus'  go  your  way,  an'  I'll  go 
mine." 

Assuredly  the  man  was  not  afraid.     What  Paul 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  75 

had  said  of  his  reputation  for  strength  and  skill 
was  true;  but  Ance  was  still  conscious  of  the  ener- 
vating influence  of  liquor,  was  tired  from  his  run, 
and  had  in  mind  also  certain  prudential  consid- 
erations as  to  how  his  quasi-friend  Philetus  would 
like  the  matter.  Moreover,  he  dully  reflected  that 
most  probably  the  scared  boy  would  confine  him- 
self to  the  hornet  matter,  and  that  on  the  whole  it 
was  better  to  bide  his  time.  He  muttered  under 
his  breath,  "  Hurt  dogs  has  got  long  mem'ries," 
and  walked  slowly  away. 

"  Come,  now,  Paul,"  said  Riverius,  picking  up 
coat  and  rifle,  "  what  new  scrape  have  you  been 
in  ?    This  looks  a  little  serious.    Let's  have  it  out." 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  tell ;  but  wait  a  little,  till  I  get 
the  eggs,"  said  the  boy.     "  I  am  awfully  blown." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  returned  his  companion. 
The  basket  was  found,  and  again  they  turned 
homeward.  The  elder  person  had  considerately 
waited  to  give  the  lad  time  to  recover  his  equa- 
nimity. Now  he  repeated  his  query  as  he  sat 
down  on  a  log,  while  Paul,  glad  of  a  rest,  threw 
himself  on  the  moss  at  his  feet. 

"  When  I  got  to  Myry  Richmond's,  there  was 
Ance  Yickers.  Well,  he  allowed  he  was  going  to 
take  a  shingle  to  me." 

"  Oh,  but  what  about?" 

"  He  said  I  sassed  him." 

"  Were  saucy,  I  suppose  you  mean." 

"  Oh,  you're  worse  than  mother,  Mr.  Riverius. 
Well,  maybe  I  was  saucy." 

"  What  about  ?" 


76  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

The  boy  reflected.  He  was  not  to  tell  Philetus, 
but  this  was  different.     He  paused. 

"  Himmel !  can't  you  tell  it  out  like  a  man  V* 

"  He  was  impudent  to  Miriam,  and  I  told  him  to 
clear  out.  You  know  he  comes  after  Phil  and  gets 
him  to  drink,  and  Myry  was  pretty  mad." 

"  I  see." 

"  I  said  I  wouldn't  tell  Philetus ;  and  you  won't, 
will  you  ?     You  see,  I  said  I  wouldn't." 

"  Who  asked  you  ? — Miriam  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Ach,  bad,  bad !     What  next  comes  ?" 

Then  Paul,  a  little  in  doubt,  related  the  hornet 
business.  The  fan  of  it  was  too  much  for  John 
Riverius,  and  he  laughed  till  he  ached.  "  And  so 
he  treed  you,  did  he  ?     And  are  you  sorry  ?" 

Paul  glanced  up  at  the  shrewd  clean-cut  face  and 
yellow  moustache.  It  was  perfectly  in  control,  and 
gave  no  counsel  to  the  alert  young  physiognomist. 

"  Sorry  ?  No,  I'm  not.  I'm  sorry  I  got  you  in 
a  row  with  that  blackguard.  He  couldn't  have 
caught  me.     I  would  have  cut  his  hand." 

"  I  don't  like  knives." 

"  No,  sir,  I  know ;  but  I  couldn't  help  it,  now, 
could  I?" 

"  I  suppose  not."  And  Riverius  arose  and  began 
thoughtfully  to  walk  to  and  fro. 

"  There  will  come  mischief  out  of  this,  Paul, 
and  your  mother  has  had  more  than  her  share  of 
trouble."  Paul  was  silent.  He  began  to  think 
that  there  might  be  several  sides  to  this  question. 

"  I'll  make  it  up  with  Ance,"  he  said,  at  last. 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  77 

"  No,  better  to  leave  it  to  me,  and  say  nothing 
to  your  mother." 

"All  right,  sir."  It  would  be  set  straight  if 
John  Riverius  took  it  in  hand;  and  with  this  con- 
soling reflection  Paul  put  it  out  of  his  mind  in 
a  few  days,  or  recalled  it  only  to  remember  with 
mirth  the  hornet  dance  of  bow-legged  Ance. 


CHAPTEK  VI. 

Two  or  three  days  passed,  during  which  Riverius 
sought  in  vain  for  a  chance  to  talk  with  Vickers. 
Then  he  went  away  down  the  river  to  Pittsburg, 
and  was  gone  two  weeks.  He  reappeared  at  supper 
one  evening,  and  after  it  went  over  to  his  cabin, 
and,  coming  back,  put  an  envelope  on  the  table. 
"  You  will  find  within  the  account  for  my  board, 
Mrs.  Preston." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  This  monthly  bit  of 
business  unaccountably  annoyed  her.  She  put  the 
envelope  in  her  pocket,  adding,  "  You  are  a  very 
easy  boarder." 

"  Am  I,  indeed  ?  I  eat  like  a  cormorant.  I  come, 
I  go.  You  must  be  very  tired  of  so  erratic  a  guest, 
and  you  put  my  account  in  your  pocket  without  a 
look  at  it.  It  is  hardly  business-like.  These  wood- 
men all  cheat  you  about  your  pines."  Riverius  had 
a  faint  sense  of  mischievous  pleasure  in  dwelling  on 
their  mutual  commercial  relations. 

"  This  is  not  business  at  all,"  Bessy  returned, 
quite  earnestly.  "  You  pay  me  by  the  month  and 
are  here  one  week  out  of  three." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  me.  How  quiet  the 
time  is!  Will  you  walk  with  me  a  little  in  the 
woods  ?"  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  made  any 
such  request,  but  of  late  he  had  acquired  the  habit 
of  sitting  with  her  after  meals  while  he  smoked, 


FAR   IN   THE   FOREST.  79 

and  now  and  then  he  had  picked  up  a  book  and 
read  aloud, — usually  after  Paul  had  gone  to  bed. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  go,  if  you  will  not  discuss 
money  matters.  I  hate  thein,"  she  answered;  and 
they  strolled  away,  leaving  Paul  deep  in  a  volume 
of  travel.  They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  while, 
following  in  the  twilight  a  disused  ox-road. 

"  How  wordless  we  are !"  he  said. 

"Yes.  There  may  be  many  reasons  for  that. 
One  may  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  Or  too  much."  As  he  spoke  she  glanced  at 
him  curiously. 

"  That  is  not  my  case,  at  least,"  she  returned.  "  I 
am  undergoing  mental  desiccation."  "  Certainly 
not  physical,"  thought  her  companion,  pleasantly 
conscious  of  her  look  of  easy  strength  and  bloom. 
He  laughed.     "  What  amuses  you?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  little.  When  one  is  happy  and  the  world 
goes  well,  a  small  thing  makes  merry.  We  are  at 
the  windfall."  As  he  spoke,  they  turned  aside 
into  the  dusking  forest. 

"  Sit  here,"  he  said.  As  she  sat  on  the  huge 
fallen  moss-clad  tree,  it  yielded  beneath  her  weight, 
a  rotten  shell  of  mouldered  ruin.  He  caught  her 
hand,  and,  laughing,  lifted  her  quickly  as  a  dusty 
powder  of  utterly  dried-up  and  decayed  wood  rose 
in  the  air.  "  This  is  better,"  he  said,  as  they  found 
seats  on  a  firmer  log. 

"  What  a  strange  ruin,  and  how  grim  and 
solemn !"  Perhaps  a  century  back  some  fierce 
cyclone  had  swept  as  with  a  giant  scythe  through 
a  mile  of  forest  and  left  behind  it  a  lane  of  tumbled 


80  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

trees,  a  hundred  yards  in  breadth.  On  either  side 
rose,  tall  and  wholesome,  a  wall  of  great  pines,  em- 
phasizing with  their  vigorous  lines  the  wreck  be- 
tween, where,  one  on  another,  lay  long  and  massive 
trunks  so  clad  with  moss  and  beset  with  ferns  as 
to  look  like  monstrous  grave-heaps  in  the  fading 

light. 

"  They  are  but  as  spectres  of  things  long  dead," 
he  said.  "  At  a  touch  they  fall  and  are  dust.  I 
would  I  could  have  seen  it  done.  Think  what  a 
sight  it  must  have  been.  A  battle  is  a  poor  human 
trifle  to  that." 

"  You  have  seen  battles  ?" 

"  Yes ;  they  are  small  affairs,  compared  to  this 
riot  of  destruction." 

"  How  sad  it  is !  I  have  been  here  often,  and 
always  it  seems  to  me  each  time  more  solemn." 
Then  they  were  still  so  long  that  Bessy,  of  a  sudden 
reflecting  on  the  fact,  recognized  in  it  the  gathering 
nearness  of  friendly  relation  which  made  silence 
possible.     At  last  he  said, — 

"  You  forbade  me  to  discuss  business,  but  I  want 
to  tell  you  that  I  have  been  thinking  of  building  a 
mill  on  your  brook,  if  you  will  let  me  have  land 
enough." 

"  Why  not?     Take  all  you  need." 

"  That  is  for  you  to  say.  It  will  be  of  great  use 
to  you,  to  me,  and  indeed  to  all  about  here.  I 
think  I  will  ask  Philetus  and  Consider  to  take 
charge  of  it.  How  would  it  do  to  sound  Miriam 
first  ?  For  some  reason,  the  old  fellow  does  not  like 
me;  and  yet  I  should  be  glad  to  help  him." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  gl 

"  You  laugh  at  his  talk  too  much." 

"  But  he  is  so  absurd." 

"  That  is  true ;  yet  why  should  you  care  ?  He  is 
practical  enough  as  to  all  business  matters." 

"  Then  you  think  well  of  my  scheme  ?  I  will  see 
his  wife  to-morrow." 

"  Perhaps  that  might  be  best,"  she  said,  thought- 
fully. 

"  Why  perhaps  ?" 

"  I  hardly  know.  I — yes,  on  the  whole,  that  may 
be  the  better  plan.  He  is  a  strange  man.  At  times 
he  seems  to  me  quite  unreasonable, — really  odd, 
you  know."  With  a  woman's  ready  intuition,  she 
had  begun  to  suspect  that  Philetus  disliked  Miriam's 
frank  admiration  of  the  German. 

"  Well,  I  will  see  her  to-morrow  and  talk  to  you 
afterwards.  Has  Paul  told  you  of  his  trouble  with 
Ance  Vickers  ?" 

"  JSTo.     Nothing  serious,  I  trust  ?" 

"  Oh,  not  very.  How  close-mouthed  the  lad  can 
be !"  Then  he  gave  her  an  account  of  Paul's  mis- 
chief, leaving  out  as  much  of  Miriam's  share  as  was 
possible. 

"  I  do  not  like  it,"  she  said. 

"  No,  nor  I ;  but  boys  will  be  boys,  and  the  mood 
of  mischief  does  not  last.  I  will  see  Ance  and  try 
to  settle  the  matter." 

"  You  will  be  a  good  friend,  as  you  always  are. 
I  will  leave  it  to  you." 

"  Thank  you." 

"And  now  for  your  reward."  And  she  laughed 
while  he  set  curious  eyes  on  her  face. 


82  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Guess." 

"  I  cannot,  unless  it  is  that  you  will  sit  an  hour 
longer." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  said,  rising.  "  It  is  time  to  go 
home." 

"  But  my  reward." 

"  Which  hand  will  you  choose  ?"  she  cried, 
smiling  and  light  of  heart. 

"  The  left,— no,  the  right." 

"  You  are  lucky."  And  she  dropped  a  large  ring 
into  his  palm. 

"  Where  found  you  that  ?  It  was  my  grand- 
father's. The  Elector  gave  it  to  his  grandfather. 
I  lost  it  in  the  drifts  that  night  when  I  pulled  off 
my  gloves  to  tie  my  snow-shoe." 

"  I  found  it  to-day  by  the  fence." 

"  Ach !  always  it  is  you  who  give." 

"  That  is  forbidden  talk." 

He  slipped  the  ring  on  his  thumb,  after  the  Ger- 
man fashion.  "  Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  put  out 
his  hand.  She  gave  him  hers.  He  was  minded  to 
kiss  it,  but  hesitated,  and  now  the  chance  was  past, 
and  they  turned  and  walked  homeward,  leaving  the 
windfall  behind  them  to  the  gathering  shadows. 

The  next  day  Biverius  strolled  across  the  woods 
to  carry  out  his  plan.  Now  and  then  he  looked 
down  at  his  ring,  or,  pausing,  gathered  a  flower 
and  studied  it  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  he  began 
to  think  over  what  he  should  say  to  Miriam.  She 
amused  him,  and  he  liked  her  society  better  than 
that  of  the  men  about  them.     On  the  way  he  met 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  33 

Ance  Vickers,  and  quietly  stopped  to  talk  to  him 
and  to  ask  a  question  as  to  the  path.  The  man 
was,  as  usual,  the  worse  for  liquor, — a  thing  which 
always  more  or  less  irritated  the  German,  who, 
looking  forth  out  of  the  too  proudly  governed  king- 
dom of  his  own  nature,  allowed  little  for  the  lower 
planes  of  other  men's  lives  and  despised  the  mob- 
rule  of  ungoverned  passions.  Ance  was  leaning 
on  his  axe-blade  and  looking  about  him  as  he  sat 
on  the  slope  above  the  brook. 

"  Good-morning,  Ance,"  said  Riverius,  recog- 
nizing his  own  feeling  of  annoyance,  but  desiring 
to  control  it  in  Paul's  interests. 

"  Mornin',"  returned  Ance,  without  looking  up. 

"  I  have  been  wanting  to  see  you  about  Mrs. 
Preston's  boy.  I  don't  think  he  meant  to  do  more 
than  just  such  mischief  as  boys  will  do." 

"  Well,  he  done  it." 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  but  really  it  is  hardly  a  matter 
for  malice.  Why  should  a  great  fellow  like  you 
care  to  keep  a  lad  scared?  You  punished  him 
quite  enough." 

"  So  you  think  and  I  don't." 

"  But  there's  his  mother." 

"  Oh,  his  mother.  That's  the  trouble,  is  it  ?  Let 
her  lick  him  well,  and  I'll  quit  thinkin'  about  the 
brat." 

Riverius  was  now  much  more  than  annoyed,  but, 
seeing  how  useless  it  was  to  talk  to  Ance  in  his 
present  condition,  made  no  direct  reply,  and  merely 
asked,  "Which  is  the  nearer  way  to  Richmond's?" 

"  The  trail's  plain  enough,"  said  Ance;  roughly. 


84  FAR  IN   THE   FOREST. 

"  I  asked  you  a  civil  question,"  returned  Rive- 
rius.     "  Why  can't  you  answer  civilly  ?" 

"  A  child  might  see.  You  go  on  straight  to  the 
brook.  Philetus  is  there,  eatin\  Guess  he'll  tell 
you." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  both  been  drinking,  or  you 
would  have  more  decent  manners." 

"  What's  that  your  business  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  make  that  poor  old  fellow  take 
liquor?" 

"  What  makes  you  go  over  to  see  that  ther'  wife 
of  his'n  ?" 

Riverius  laughed,  despite  his  sense  of  rising 
wrath.  "  You'll  get  into  trouble,  my  man,  if  you 
don't  keep  a  little  better  guard  on  your  tongue." 

"  That's  where  you'll  git,  I  guess." 

"  Pshaw !"  said  Riverius,  controlling  his  anger, 
and  walked  away  biting  his  long  moustache.  Pres- 
ently he  came  upon  Philetus,  and  at  once  saw  that 
he  had  been  sharing  the  other  woodman's  flask. 
Such  indulgence  at  first  made  him  either  merry 
or  contemplative,  but  soon  or  late  suspicious  and 
cross-grained.  He  was  eating  his  mid-day  meal  by 
the  brook.     His  quick  ear  detected  the  step. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  the  German.  "  I  wanted 
to  see  you." 

"  Well,  Pm  here  and  you're  here." 

"  And  I  suppose  Consider  isn't  far  away,  Phi- 
letus." 

" No,  sir ;  a  man's  got  to  keep  his  eyes  near  to 
hand.  £Tot  that  I  needs  'em  much,  but  I  smelt  a 
bear  pretty  nigh  this  mornin',  and  bears  wants  eyes 


FAR   IN  THE  FOREST.  85 

until  you  come  to  close  quarters,  then  they  ain't  no 
good." 

"  I  like  hest  to  look  at  them  over  the  sight  of  a 
rifle." 

"  'Tain't  a  fair  thing,  nuther,  Mr.  Ryverus.  I've 
often  took  notice  of  that  sence  I  went  blind.  We're 
awful  mean  lighters,  men  air.  The  devil  he's  a  lot 
fairer;  he  jus'  runs  in  on  you,  and  it's  a  squar' 
rough-and-tumble.  I've  had  times  with  him, — 
times ;  'twasn't  hypocrisy  done  it.  That  ain't  my 
failin'.  That  gits  you  in  the  teeth.  Manuel  Swe- 
denborg  says  so.  Anyways,  some  devil's  got  my 
eyes,  cause  maybe  they  wasn't  the  Lord's  servers." 

Riverius  listened,  and  at  the  close  was  silent  a 
moment.  Vagueness  was  most  unpleasant  to  him. 
He  said,  abruptly, — 

"  What  are  you  and  Yickers  doing  here  ?" 

"  God's  work,"  he  answered.  He  was  in  one  of 
the  curious  moods  which  a  little  drink  and  his  own 
nature  were  apt  to  create. 

"Well,  just  what  kind?" 

"  Seem'  whar  Ike  Rollins  kin  put  a  mill  on  this 
brook.  Perhaps  you're  a-guessin'  as  that  ain't 
God's  work." 

"  Why  not  ?     It  is  all  his  work." 

"  There's  ways  and  ways,"  urged  Phil,  keenly 
disposed  for  discussion  ;  but  the  German  diverged, 
a  little  bored,  and  desirous  to  be  on  his  way  again. 

"  Isn't  this  Mrs.  Preston's  land  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  a  good  mill-site,  too.  Quite  a  nat'ral 
dam,  and  handy  to  the  river." 

"  What  will  Rollins  want  to  give  her  ?" 


86  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

"  I  don't  know,  rightly.  He  kind  of  left  it  to 
me  and  her." 

"  Then  it's  not  settled  yet  ?" 

"No." 

"  What  is  the  way  to  your  house,  Richmond  ?" 

"  Goin'  thar,  are  you  ?  Well,  ye're  a  bit  off.  It's 
'stonishin'  how  you  city  folks  git  to  lose  yourselves 
in  a  clean  wood.  Two  miles  off,  you  air.  F  oiler 
the  brook  a  mile,  and  take  a  ox-road  to  left.  What's 
goin'  on  now?" 

"  Nothing  of  moment.  I  am  going  to  see  your 
wife." 

"  Well,  that's  the  way."  He  was  wondering  why 
a  man  should  go  to  see  another  man's  wife  with  no 
object  in  view  which  he  seemed  to  care  to  state. 

"  By  the  bye,  Mrs.  Richmond  will  tell  you  my 
errand  when  you  see  her.  You  will  be  pleased,  I 
think.     Good-by." 

The  woodman  rose  and  heard  his  retreating 
steps.  "  I'd  give  a  lot  fur  to  see  that  'ere  man's 
face.  Then  I'd  know.  Ther's  things  goin'  on, 
goin'  on Oh,  Lord,  fur  to  see !" 

As  Riverius  approached  Richmond's  cabin  he 
came  upon  the  child.  "  Halloo,  kitten,"  he  said, 
mounting  the  young  Ophelia  on  his  broad  shoulder, 
"  here's  a  box  of  sugar-plums  from  the  big  town." 

"  I  love  you.  What  makes  you  cut  your  hair  so 
short?     Phely  can't  hold  on." 

"For  beauty,  kitten.  Our  affection  is  mutual. 
Where's  mother  ?" 

"  Here,"  said   Miriam's   strong   voice.     "  Come 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  g7 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  he  said.  He  was  more  easily 
familiar  with  her  than  with  her  friend. 

"Did  you  see  my  Phil,  Mr.  Riverius?  He  wasn't 
home  last  night."  She  tried  to  say  it  steadily,  but 
her  voice  fell. 

"  Yes ;  I  met  him  at  the  run.  He  was  with 
Vickers." 

"Ah,  I  understand.  I  thought  that  man  was 
down  Olean  way.  You  won't  mind,  sir,  hut — but 
— had  Phil  been  drinking  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Richmond." 

"  Couldn't  you  speak  to  him  ?" 

"  I  will ;  but  Mrs.  Preston  has  much  more  power 
to  influence  him  than  I." 

"  I  know ;  that's  so ;  but  she's  tried  and  I've 
tried."  Miriam  well  knew  that  Philetus  disliked 
Riverius,  but  scarcely  why. 

"  If  Phil  only  just  had  some  steady  work,  but 
he's  here  and  he's  there.  You  know  how  it  is; 
and  the  logging-camps  are  just  too  awful." 

"  I  came  over  to  ask  you  about  something  which 
may  help  you.  I  think  of  buying  a  hundred  acres 
along  the  run  and  building  a  saw-mill.  That  would 
give  Mrs.  Preston  a  little  money,  at  say  ten  dollars 
an  acre." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  worth  it." 

"Yes;  it's  the  only  mill-site  for  five  miles 
round." 

"  Phil  won't  like  that,"  she  said,  abruptly. 

"  And  why  not  ?" 

"  He's  promised  it  in  a  way  to  Rollins." 

"  Promised  it !"  said  Riverius,  haughtily.     "  It 


88  FAR   IN   THE  FOREST. 

is  not  his.  How  could  he  ?  And  why  won't  he 
like  it?" 

She  colored  slightly.  "  "Well,  he  won't.  He 
won't  like  your  coming  in  and  bidding  over  Rollins; 
and  Rollins  won't,  either,  for  that  matter." 

"  That  matters  little  to  me.  What  I  want  is  to 
put  Phil  and  his  deaf  friend  in  charge  to  run  it. 
I  will  give  good  wages  and  steady  employment. 
That  will  keep  him  clear  of  Ance.  Now  suppose 
you  were  to  speak  to  Phil.  If  I  talk  to  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton at  once " 

"  Did  Phil  speak  of  it  ?— about  Rollins,  1  mean?" 
she  broke  in. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  he  won't  like  it.  I'll  try ;  but  he  won't 
like  it.  He's  a  man  stands  by  his  word,  drunk  or 
sober."  She  spoke  with  a  certain  pride.  "  I'll 
speak  to  him,  anyway.  It  would  keep  him  a  heap 
from  home." 

"  Yes ;  that  cannot  be  helped." 

Meanwhile,  the  fair  Ophelia  had  been  exhaust- 
ing her  devices  to  attract  his  notice.  She  tapped 
his  knee,  looked  up  at  his  face,  tried  the  lure  of 
peeping  round  a  chair,  and  at  last,  in  the  pause  at 
the  close  of  his  last  words,  said,  "  I  don't  love  you." 

"  Daughter  of  Eve !"  he  cried,  laughing.  "  I 
must  go."  Yet  he  stayed  on,  playing  like  an  older 
child  with  the  little  maid,  showing  her  his  watch, 
which  opened  when  she  blew  on  it,  and  doing 
simple  conjuring  tricks  to  her  vast  delight. 

"  You  ought  to  have  young  ones  of  your  own, 
Mr.  Riverius,"  said  the  happy,  handsome  mother. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  89 

"  Acli !"  he  laughed,  "  not  till  I  can  get  as  hand- 
some a  mother." 

"  Looks  are  not  much  good  up  here,"  she  said, 
"  and  with  a  blind  husband,  too." 

"  He's  got  ears,  though,"  said  Philetus  at  the  door. 
Whether  or  not  he  had  heard  the  German's  frank 
compliment  could  not  be  said,  but  Riverius  promptly 
answered, "  You've  got  the  handsomest  wife  on  the 
Alleghany,  Philetus,  and  she  the  best-looking  man." 

"We're  very  well,"  returned  the  giant,  rather 
shortly.     "  Will  you  bide  ?" 

"No;  Mrs.  Richmond  knows  my  errand.  She 
will  tell  you." 

"  I  thought  you  hadn't  no  errand." 

"  I  did  not  say  so." 

"  I  kinder  so  took  it." 

"  You  mustn't  mind  Phil,"  she  said,  as  Riverius 
passed  by  her  at  the  door-way.  He  nodded,  smiling, 
and  heard  the  small  Ophelia's  voice,  "  You  come 
back  soon." 

A  day  or  two  later,  Philetus,  quite  sober,  came 
over  and  sat  in  Riverius's  cabin.  "  I've  come  'bout 
that  'ere  mill.  Seem's  you'd  fixed  it  with  Madam. 
I'll  come,  and  Consider  will  come  too.  Will  you 
take  Ance  Vickers  ?" 

"  Himmel !  not  I,"  said  Riverius. 

"  I  knowed  you  wouldn't.  I  ain't  spoke  none  to 
him  about  it.  But  Rollins  he's  that  mad;  says 
you  bought  in  afore  him." 

"  Tell  him  to  go  to  der  Teufel." 

"  I  ain't  clear  whar  that  may  be.  I'd  a  bit  ruther 
him  and  his  loggin'-gang  was  in  with  you." 


90  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

" "Not  if  I  can  help  it.  They  are  the  worst  lot 
from  here  to  Olean." 

"  He's  pizin  mad." 

"  Stuff!  Go  on  and  "build  the  mill;  but  no  Ance 
Vickers." 

"  All  right :  you  knows  yer  business.  Nex'  time 
you  want  to  talk,  Mr.  Ryverus,  you  talk  at  me.  I 
ain't  deef,  and  there  ain't  no  call  to  be  counsellin' 
with  women.  You'll  find  me  at  the  mill, — alius  at 
the  mill."  The  offer  was,  in  fact,  too  good  to  re- 
ject; and  Miriam  had  not  been  without  influence. 
He  left  the  German  mildly  puzzled,  but  clear  at 
least  that  his  visits  to  Miriam  were  not  to  her  hus- 
band's mind, — why  he  could  not  tell.  Ance  might 
have  enlightened  him;  yet  the  notion  of  jealousy 
on  the  part  of  the  blind  man  would  have  merely 
amused  him. 

The  mill  was  built,  and  the  summer  glided  on  to 
its  close.  Late  in  September  the  money  was  to 
be  paid  to  Mrs.  Preston.  There  had  been  some 
trouble  as  to  that,  until  she  heard  how  much  the 
disappointed  Rollins  would  have  been  willing  to 
give,  and  then  it  seemed  natural  enough.  Riverius 
had  been  over  to  Olean  and  returned. 

"  In  the  house ;  mother's  in  the  house,"  said 
Paul. 

"  I've  brought  you  a  rifle,  Paul.  Come  over  this 
evening  and  get  it.  Come  late.  I  have  letters  to 
write."     Then  he  went  in. 

Mrs.  Preston  had  a  bowl  in  her  lap,  and  was 
peeling  potatoes.  To  his  surprise,  she  wore  a  pair 
of  faded  gloves. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  91 

"  Come  in,"  she  said.  He  had  paused  at  the 
door,  watching  her  a  moment.  Whatever  she  did 
had  a  dexterous  grace  which  gave  pleasure  to  see. 
"  I  wish  you  would  finish  those  laurels,"  she  said 
"  I  was  half  tempted  to  try  myself,  only  your  box 
is  in  your  cabin,  and " 

"I  will  leave  it  here.  Can  you  paint?  You 
never  told  me." 

"  Yes,  a  little, — not  very  well.  I  used  to  once. 
I  will  try  to-morrow." 

"Perhaps  you  may  like  a  lesson.  Oh!  and 
here  is  a  bank-book.  You  see  you  are  credited 
with  a  thousand  dollars  in  the  Olean  Bank." 

She  took  it,  somewhat  embarrassed.  It  was  as 
though  he  was  giving  her  something.  "  Thank 
you,"  she  said. 

"  !No  need  to.  It  is  a  pure  matter  of  business.  I 
am  the  gainer."  And  he  smiled.  "  I  see  you  have 
done  the  potatoes.  Suppose  I  bring  the  paints 
now.     The  light  is  good." 

In  a  few  moments  they  were  standing  on  two 
chairs  by  the  fireplace,  with  Paul  on  one  side,  hold- 
ing the  color-case.  "You  paint  well,"  he  said. 
"  What  a  pity  we  had  not  the  laurels  !  How  glorious 
they  are  !  Can  you  reach  the  upper  spray  ?  A  little 
more  purple.  That's  it.  Take  care !"  As  she 
reached  up,  the  chair  tilted,  and  but  for  his  quick 
stay  of  her  waist  she  would  have  fallen. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  flushing.  "  I  think  that 
will  do  for  to-day."  And  at  once  she  descended. 
The  touch  troubled  her.  "  Why  did  you  let  go  the 
chair,  Paul  ?"  she  exclaimed,  irritably. 


92  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

Riverius  looked  puzzled.  "We  will  finish  to- 
morrow," he  said,  but  they  did  not.  Mrs.  Preston 
said  it  was  perhaps  better  for  him  to  go  on  with  the 
roses.  They  were  still  in  bloom  here  and  there. 
When  the  laurels  came  back  they  could  do  them, 
if  Mr.  Riverius  chanced  to  be  on  the  Alleghany, 
next  spring. 

The  day  after  he  spent  the  morning  over  the 
birch-bark  panels,  working  with  swiftness  and  evi- 
dent pleasure,  while  without  Mrs.  Preston  sat  be- 
low the  eaves,  where  the  narrowing  shadow  now 
and  then  caused  her  to  rise  and  set  her  chair  farther 
back.  Paul  was  cleaning  the  new  rifle,  certainly 
for  the  second  time  that  day.  His  mother  looked 
up  from  her  sewing  and  back  athwart  the  clearing 
to  the  sparks  of  silver  which  shot  through  the 
leafage  from  the  shining  river.  The  stumps  in  the 
foreground  were  blackened  by  fire,  or  mouldering, 
moss-clad  and  lichen-tinted.  She  reflected  that  they 
were  like  material  memories  of  things  once  beauti- 
ful. Why  should  they  be  ugly  and  unpleasant? 
By  and  by  these  mouldering  memories  would  die. 
Around  them  the  violets  had  been  in  June,  and 
then  the  daisies,  and  now  asters.  The  train  of  re- 
flection had  the  sweet  vagueness  of  the  half-linked 
thoughts  and  fancies  which  should  be,  nay,  are, 
the  gentle  privilege  of  the  woman  who  sits  nigh 
the  sunshine  within  scent  of  pine  and  spruce,  the 
fingers  busy,  the  mind  taking  holiday  from  moment 
to  moment.  She  was  happy  and  knew  it.  Why 
was  she  yielding  to  half-morbid  fancies  ?  All 
memories  must  fade.     Life  itself  is  one  long  mem- 


FAR   IN  THE  FOREST.  93 

ory.  That,  too,  will  fade.  Yet  there  was  some 
luxury  in  the  melancholy  fancies.  She  saw  faintly 
that  once  she  had  been  so  sad  that  she  had  not 
dared  to  drift  in  thought.  Stern  repression  had 
been  the  needful  rule  of  her  life,  for  she  had  had  a 
deadly  fear  of  morbid  yieldings  and  instinctively 
cherished  what  hope  or  zest  was  left  in  life.  But 
now,  yes,  she  was  happy,  and  had  no  need  to  coerce 
her  wayward,  dreamy  moods.  She  could  afford  the 
luxury  of  melancholy.  Almost  she  could  aiford  to 
go  backward  and  calmly  consider  the  joy,  and  the 
fading  of  it,  and  even  Paul  the  father.  No,  not  yet. 
There  would  come  a  time  when  she  could  do  this 
thing  and  must.  She  fairly  well  understood  Bessy 
Preston,  and  was  quite  honest  in  her  self-dealings. 
Some  memorial  debts  gather  awful  usury ;  others 
are  mysteriously  settled  by  time. 

"  Paul,  you  treat  that  gun  like  a  baby,"  she  cried. 

He  looked  up,  well  pleased.  "  Oh,  he's  the  nicest 
man  I  just  ever " 

She  shook  her  head,  put  a  finger  on  her  lips,  and 
then  pointed  to  the  cabin,  whence  came  suddenly 
the  words,— 

"Ach,  das  ist  schon.  I  have  finished  the  laurels. 
"Will  not  you  enter  and  observe  ?" 

She  gathered  up  her  work,  and,  smiling,  went  in. 
"  Thank  you.  How  exquisite !  You  have  re- 
touched my  work.     How  much  better  it  looks  !" 

"  No,  I  let  it  alone.  I  am  quite  honest  to  say 
it  is  good.  Where  does  mine  end,  and  where  is 
yours  ?" 

"  There,— just  there." 


94  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  No."  And  he  laughed  merrily.  "  No,  we  do 
never  know  where  one's  work  begins  and  where  one 
other's  joins  it.  That  is  so  of  life.  Ach,  I  get 
mystic,  as  is  our  friend  Philetus ;  and  that  puts  in 
my  mind  to  say  that  I  would  like  to  take  Paul  up 
the  river.  They  are  going  to  try  to  break  the  great 
jam  which  is  now  from  last  April."  He  always 
asked  leave  in  his  proud,  courteous  way  when  he 
desired  to  have  Paul  with  him, — which  was  often. 
At  times  she  said  no.  The  boy's  hours  of  lessons,  at 
which  she  worked  harder  than  Paul  himself,  were 
resolutely  to  be  adhered  to,  and  she  was  as  firm  in 
regard  to  what  Riverius  asked  as  she  would  have 
been  with  any  less  friendly  person.  He  never 
urged  or  repeated  a  request,  and  took  yes  or  no 
with  quiet  acceptance. 

"  If  he  will  get  double  lessons  to-morrow,  he  may 
go.    I  suppose  it  will  be  an  interesting  thing  to  see." 

"  Yes,  and  there  are  logs  of  yours  and  of  mine  in 
the  jam.  Philetus  and  Kinsman  will  be  there  to 
help,  and  I  suppose  that  fellow  Rollins  and  his 
men.  It  will  be  well  worthy  to  see.  Wherefore 
will  you  not  also  go  ?" 

She  hesitated,  and  by  this  time  Paul  had  joined 
them  and  given  very  eagerly  the  required  pledge. 
"  Oh,  do  go,  mother!"  he  said.  "¥e  will  take 
you  up  in  the  dug-out.  You  needn't  be  the  least 
afraid,"  he  added,  seriously.  "  Mr.  Riverius  he  can 
pole  right  well.  You  never  will  let  me  pole  you, 
and  Phil  says  I'll  be  as  good  as  Ike  Rollins  before 
long.     Do  come." 

She  said  she  would  go.     Of  late  her  youthful 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  95 

enterprise  was  returning,  and  a  more  wholesome 
curiosity,  which  for  a  long  while  had  seemed  to  be 
utterly  dead. 

"  Then  we  will  lunch  on  the  way,"  said  Paul. 
"  We  can't  lose  any  time.  I  know  the  key  to  that 
jam.  I  was  all  over  it  last  week."  Riverius  smiled 
at  the  lad's  little  display.  The  jam  was  the  worst 
known  for  years,  and  had  defied  thus  far  the  skill 
of  the  oldest  lumbermen.  Another  year  would 
make  it  serious,  and  the  accumulation  of  spring 
logs  would  add  to  the  difficulty.  "  We  may  have  to 
walk  back,  mother.  If  it  breaks,  the  river  will  be 
dangerous." 

"  I  can  walk,"  she  said.  "  It  is  not  over  five  or 
six  miles." 

"  Yes,  and  mostly  ox-roads."  The  boy  ran  about, 
hastened  Becky,  and  was  perched  on  the  fence  with 
his  basket  and  the  rifle  before  Riverius  and  Mrs. 
Preston  were  ready.  Then  he  shouted,  "  I'll  bale 
her  out,"  and  was  off"  down  the  slope  to  the  swift 
river. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Presently  Riverius  and  Mrs.  Preston  joined  Paul 
at  the  river.  Twigs,  ferns,  and  dry  moss  were  put 
in  the  bottom  of  the  long  dug-out.  Mrs.  Preston 
sat  down  in  the  middle.  They  pushed  carefully 
out  a  few  yards  from  shore.  It  was  not  her  first 
experience  of  a  pirogue  or  dug-out,  but  in  her  days 
of  sorrow  and  anxiety  she  had  often  felt  on  the 
verge  of  nervousness  and  hesitated  with  a  timidity 
not  natural  to  her  to  put  herself  where  her  nerves 
might  be  tried.  Now  she  recognized  with  joy  that 
she  had  recovered  her  youthful  freedom  from  fear 
and  could  simply  give  herself  up  to  the  happiness 
of  an  idle  hour.  Idle  it  was  and  happy.  A  dug- 
out, or,  as  it  is  at  times  called  in  Maine,  a  pirogue, 
is  merely  a  long  log  hollowed  out  by  the  axe  and 
sharpened  at  stem  and  stern.  There  is  no  keel, 
and  the  inexperienced  man  who  can  even  stand  up 
in  it  when  afloat  must  be  rare,  so  that  a  lumber- 
man is  apt  to  say,  "  Got  to  be  born  in  a  py-rogue, 
and  not  squint  none,  and  git  your  hair  parted  in 
the  middle."  But  two  skilful  polesmen  upright 
at  bow  and  stern  in  this  frail  vessel  i3  as  pretty 
a  sight  as  can  be  seen.  And  now  the  woman 
watched  with  pleasure  the  alert  lad  in  the  bow, 
heard  the  quick  click  of  the  ash-poles  against  the 
sides  of  the  boat,  and  saw  the  water  whirl  by  as 
with  rhythmic  precision  the  gleaming  poles  struck 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  97 

on  the  bottom  and  drove  the  rocking  dug-out  up 
the  stream.  Hand  over  hand  they  were  brought  for- 
ward swiftly  amid  rapid  words  from  bow  to  stern. 
"To  left,  Paul.  Swing  her.  Round  the  rock.  Quick, 
look  out.  That's  it.  Snub  her,  snub  her,  Paul. 
Now  let  her  have  it."  On  either  side  the  hills  rose, 
as  yet  little  scathed  by  the  axe,  but  touched  here 
and  there  with  anticipative  autumn  tints.  Pines, 
black  and  white  birches,  cherry,  poplar,  a  great 
and  glorious  show  of  nature's  varied  handiwork, 
fled  by  as  it  were  in  moving,  shifting  masses.  How 
delicious  it  was,  the  faint  sense  of  peril,  the  assur- 
ance of  security  in  the  slim  well-built  figure  in  the 
bow,  sharply  conning  the  river  ahead,  decisive  and 
with  a  proud  look  of  responsibility  in  his  strong 
young  face !  The  thought  came  over  her  that, 
whatever  might  be  his  lot, — and  she  by  no  means 
meant  these  woods  to  be  its  limit, — the  present 
education  in  limb  and  mind  was  of  the  best  for  his 
years. 

Riverius  had  taken  kindly  to  the  river  ways,  but 
he  was  as  yet  far  less  skilful  than  the  young  bow- 
man, although  his  greater  power  was  felt  in  the 
energy  imparted  to  each  forward  dart  of  the  boat 
as  the  rattling  iron-shod  poles  struck  the  rocky 
bottom.  About  two  miles  up  they  turned  aside  to 
avoid  a  deep  current,  and  passed  into  comparatively 
shallow  water,  around  an  island  skirted  with  willows 
and  thickly  wooded  with  hickories  and  the  gum- 
tree,  already  kindling  with  prophecy  of  the  glories 
of  October.  The  water  was  quick  and  the  rapids 
somewhat  turbulent.     "  Now  look  sharp,  mother," 


98  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

said  Paul,  "  and  sit  still.  This  is  the  worst."  Of 
a  sudden  the  canoe  was  checked  short  midway 
in  its  powerfully-urged  upward  course.  Biverius 
cried,  "  Hold  her,  hard,  hard,"  and  there  was  a 
splash  behind  Bessy  Preston,  scarce  heard  amidst 
the  watery  tumult,  whilst  the  dug-out  rocked  dan- 
gerously. She  saw  Paul  holding  the  boat  with  all 
his  force,  the  pole  quivering  in  the  fierce  rush  of 
water.  She  knew  at  once,  with  a  little  scare,  that 
they  had  narrowly  escaped  going  over.  She  did 
not  stir,  having  the  rare  faculty  of  growing  calm 
in  danger.  "  What  is  it,  Paul  ?"  she  said.  He 
did  not  reply:  he  was  looking  anxiously  astern. 
"  All  right,"  said  a  voice,  a  little  distant.  "  Drop 
her  carefully."  Paul's  face  lit  up,  and  almost  foot 
by  foot  he  let  the  dug-out  drop  back,  saying,  as  he 
did  so,  "  He's  all  right.  Caught  his  pole."  Then, 
as  they  floated  into  quieter  water,  "  Oh,  mother ! 
there  isn't  a  man  on  the  Alleghany  would  have 
dared  to  do  that.     Glad  I  was  looking  back." 

"  What  was  he  doing,  Paul  ?     Is  he  safe  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  he's  safe.  Why,  just  at  the  end  of 
the  push,  mother,  your  pole  is  apt  to  catch  be- 
tween rocks ;  and  if  you  hold  on  you  go  over,  and 
the  boat  too.  You  must  let  the  pole  go.  You  see, 
he  isn't  quite  up  to  it;  and  so  when  he  held  on  a 
bit  too  long,  and  he  knew  what  was  coming,  he 
just  fell  backwards  out  of  the  dug-out  quietly  , 
and,  mother,  he  never  looked  behind  him.  If  he 
had  hit  a  rock  he  might  have  been  killed." 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  I  see." 

By  this  time  Riverius  was  ashore,  laughing,  and 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  99 

wringing  out  his  moustache,  and  shaking  himself 
like  a  great  Newfoundland. 

"  You  have  cut  your  head,"  said  Mrs.  Preston. 

"  Yes ;  I  could  not  see  back  of  me.  It  will  stop 
bleeding  in  a  moment.  Find  me  a  dry  puff-ball, 
Paul."  The  boy  came  back  with  it  and  watched 
Riverius  crush  it  and  finally  bind  it  on  his  temple 
with  his  handkerchief.  "  I  picked  up  the  pole,"  said 
Paul.  He  said  nothing  of  the  little  feat,  one  which 
few  boatmen  care  to  practise  in  a  rocky  rapid.1 
He  had  learned  that  personal  allusions  or  expres- 
sions of  his  boy  hero-worship  were  ungraciously 
received,  and  Mrs.  Preston  spoke  only  a  few  words 
of  question.  Wet  clothes  and  a  cut  head  were 
small  affairs  in  the  woods,  and  perhaps  also  she 
did  not  quite  as  fully  realize  as  did  Paul  either  the 
quick  unselfish  courage  or  the  great  risk  of  the  ad- 
venture. They  pushed  out  anew,  Riverius  saying, 
"  Shall  you  have  any  fear  ?     I  was  clumsy." 

"I?     Certainly  not." 

However,  they  took  another  channel,  and  Rive- 
rius was  pretty  dry  when  they  came  near  the  jam. 
The  boat  was  pulled  far  up  into  the  wood  and  tied 
to  a  tree.  Then  they  followed  a  trail  along  shore, 
climbed  up  through  alder  thickets  and  sturdy  laurel- 
bushes,  and  at  last  found  themselves  on  a  bluff  some 
thirty  feet  above  the  stream.  Here  were  Philetus, 
Consider  Kinsman,  and  Anson  Vickers.  Rollins 
and  a  dozen  or  two  of  his  wood-gang  were  busy 
coiling  and  untangling  ropes.     Axes  and  log-hooks 

1  The  author  has  seen  it  done  on  just  such  an  occasion. 


100  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

lay  about,  and  the  men  in  high  hob-nailed  boots 
and  the  universal  red  shirt  were  moving  to  and 
fro.  Then  there  was  a  consultation  between  Phi- 
letus,  Consider,  Vickers,  and  a  few  others.  There 
was  much  talk  and  some  difference  of  opinion.  As 
the  new-comers  joined  the  group,  Consider  turned 
and  pulled  Philetus's  sleeve. 

"  It's  the  Madam,  and  Ryverus,  and  Paul.  Ryve- 
rus  he's  had  a  wettin'.  He  couldn't  of  fell  out  of 
the  dug-out :  he'd  of  upsot  her.  Never  knowed  a 
furriner  any  good  in  a  canoe." 

Rollins  nodded  in  a  familiar  way. 

"What's  the  difficulty?"  said  the  German,  mov- 
ing up  to  the  group. 

"  Guess  the  same  there  was  always,"  returned 
Rollins. 

"  It  don't  sway  none,"  said  Consider.  "  It's  the 
wust  jam  I  ever  see." 

"Has  any  one  been  out  on  it  lately?"  asked 
Riverius,  taking  no  apparent  notice  of  Rolling's 
abrupt  manner.    He  knew  how  these  jams  change. 

"  Ben  on  it  ?"  replied  Rollins.  "  I've  lived  on 
it,  almost.  Ain't  I  got  five  thousand  logs  in  it, 
clean  marked  all,  and  a  heap  of  'em  water-soaked?" 

"  There's  two  keys  to  that  'ere  jam,"  said  Con- 
sider. 

"  No,  there  ain't ;  there's  one,"  returned  Vickers, 
"  and  a  bad  one.     Seed  it  yesterday." 

"  Where  is  it  ?"  said  Paul,  incautiously. 

"  Don't  you  go  to  speak  to  yer  betters,"  replied 
Ance,  sharply. 

"  My  betters  ?" 


FAR   IN  THE  FOHEST.  JQJ. 

"  Come  here,"  called  Mrs.  Preston.  "Now  keep 
quiet.     This  is  not  a  boy's  business." 

"  But  I  know  where  the  key  is." 

"  Keep  quiet.     Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

He  was  silent. 

Rollins  grinned,  and  the  German  drew  himself 
up. 

"  Well,  it's  settled  at  last,"  said  Rollins.  "  Ance 
will  go  down  on  the  jam.  Some  of  you  will  carry 
a  rope  to  him.  Here,  get  the  end  through  the 
pulleys.  Now  stir  around.  When  Ance  sings 
out,  '  Pull,'  let  her  have  it.  Here,  two  of  you 
cross,  and  two  stay  below  by  yon  pine.  Once  it 
starts,  keep  'em  a-goin',  and  look  smart  for  broken 
legs." 

Riverius  took  out  a  field-o;lass  and  be^an  to  sur- 
vey  the  great  jam.  For  a  half-mile  above  where 
they  stood,  the  narrowed  stream  was  partially 
dammed  by  an  inconceivably  confused  mass  of  vast 
brown  logs.  The  force  of  the  wild  rush  of  water, 
now  at  rather  unusual  height  of  flood  from  recent 
rains,  was  seen  in  an  occasional  heave  of  some 
great  trunk  or  heard  in  numberless  creaking, 
crunching  sounds.  Here  and  there  at  times  a 
spurt  of  yellow  water  shot  in  air.  Now  and  then 
there  were,  at  places  chiefly  midway  in  the  jam, 
local  disturbances,  logs  rolling  over  one  another, 
and  then  quiet,  as  the  vast  energies  at  work  in 
the  pent-up  river  reached  the  limit  of  their  power 
to  crush  or  compress  the  tangle  of  logs.  Lower 
down  the  shore,  great  tree-trunks  standing  at  every 
conceivable  angle,  or  piled  one  on  the  other,  so 


.1,02  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

weighted  the  accumulated  mass  as  to  make  in  many 
places  an  almost  solid  dam,  through  which  the 
prisoned  water  struggled,  or  over  which  it  dashed 
high  in  sheets  of  amber-yellow  foam  loaded  with 
the  ground  bark  from  this  huge  crush  of  chafed 
and  grinding  pines.  A  good  deal  of  timber  had 
by  degrees  been  started  from  the  lower  end  of  the 
blockade,  and  thousands  of  logs  of  black  birch, 
pine,  cherry,  and  hickory  sent  adrift,  to  be  gathered 
at  the  booms  far  below.  But  above  the  point  now 
in  question  there  was  a  vast,  almost  motionless, 
tangle  of  pines.  Somewhere  in  it  was  the  key,  as 
the  lumbermen  call  it.  There  might  be  but  one, 
there  might  be  several ;  and  the  decision  as  to  this 
point  is  in  a  measure  experimental.  As  to  the 
present  case,  it  was  possible  that  the  single  key  of 
the  jam  was  at  the  place  where  Ance  had  decided 
it  to  be,  some  thirty  feet  above  the  lower  limit  of 
the  anchored  mass.  Here  an  uprooted  pine  with 
most  of  its  great  limbs  still  whole  had  become  in 
some  way  arrested,  its  weighted  roots  being  firmly 
stayed  against  the  underlying  rocks  and  its  top 
looking  up  stream.  Against  its  first  strong  limb 
a  cut  pine  log  of  unusual  size  and  length  had 
caught,  and,  forced  down  by  the  current  and  cum- 
bered by  gathering  logs,  had  also  been  weighted 
down  to  the  bottom.  Thus  the  two  made  an  angle, 
and  on  and  about  them  other  logs  had  caught,  and, 
with  uprooted  saplings  and  trunks  great  and  small, 
had  made  a  firm  barrier.  This  was  continually 
strengthened  by  arriving  masses  of  timber,  which, 
driven  down,  heaved  up,  and  crossed  in  wild  con- 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  103 

fusion,  had  at  last  blocked  the  entire  stream.  Of 
course  there  were  within  the  crush  of  logs  a  multi- 
tude of  lesser  keys ;  but,  the  mass  once  started  by 
rupture  of  one  of  its  greater  stays,  it  was  possible 
that  the  smaller  anchors  would  be  torn  loose  in 
the  violent  rush  of  the  unprisoned  waters. 

Opinions  varied  as  to  whether  Ance  was  correct. 
At  all  events,  the  work  was  to  be  done  from  below. 
With  this  obstacle  cleared  away,  they  would  know 
if,  as  Ance  contended,  it  was  the  main  key  to  the 
jam.  He  sat  down,  looked  to  see  if  the  great 
nails  in  his  boots  were  sharp,  rose  up,  and,  tighten- 
ing his  belt,  took  an  axe,  felt  its  edge,  and  walked 
away  on  what  he  well  knew  to  be  an  errand  of 
immense  danger.     Riverius  turned  to  Paul. 

"  I  am  going  on  to  the  jam  above,  to  see  if  Con- 
sider is  ri^ht." 

"  I  wouldn't,  sir,"  said  Paul.  He  well  knew  the 
risk. 

"  Oh,  there  is  time  enough.  Just  fire  your  rifle 
when  they  begin.     I  will  not  go  far." 

Mrs.  Preston  was  about  to  speak,  but  he  was 
now  walking  away,  and  she  hesitated  to  call  after 
him, — she  hardly  knew  why. 

"Paul's  got  to  look  sharp,"  Rollins  had  said. 
"There  won't  be  much  time  to  lose."  Paul 
capped  his  rifle  and  stood  ready,  not  liking  it,  and 
anxiously  following  with  his  eyes  the  retreating 
figure.  Meanwhile,  Ance  alertly  leaped  from  log 
to  log,  conscious  that  all  eyes  were  on  him.  Then, 
looking  up,  he  shouted,  "  It's  sprung  a  bit  here 
eence  yesterday."     The  men  following  with  a  rope 


104  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

collected  about  him.  Then  one  climbed  the  great 
pine  log  and  as  far  up  as  possible  knotted  it  se- 
curely on  the  end  of  the  rough  trunk.  "  Ready  !" 
cried  Ance.  Gradually  the  gang  on  the  bluff  a 
little  lower  down  the  stream  tightened  the  rope, 
the  pulleys  creaking,  while  the  men  on  the  jam 
made  rapidly  for  the  shore.  Ance  looked  up,  and, 
leaning  over,  struck  blow  on  blow  below  the  water- 
line.  At  last  he  cried,  "  Now  let  her  have  it,"  and 
stepped  back.  The  huge  trunk,  released,  sprang 
forward  violently,  aided  by  the  pull  of  a  score  of 
vigorous  men  on  the  bluff.  "  Quick,  Ance  !"  they 
called.  "He's  done  it.  Quick!  Go  it,  Ance!" 
The  woodman  leaped  from  log  to  log,  won  the 
safer  shore,  caught  at  branch  and  tree-trunk,  and 
swung  himself  breathless  to  the  bluff  top.  "Knowed 
I'd  do  it/'  he  said. 

As  Ance  took  his  station  on  the  jam,  Paul  raised 
his  rifle,  lowered  it  as  the  first  axe-blow  rang  on 
the  jam  below,  and  cried  out,  in  terror,  "  I've 
dropped  the  cap !" 

"Run,  run!"  said  his  mother.  "Run  up  the 
bank !  run !"  Paul  shot  away  at  the  word,  and 
Mrs.  Preston  turned  to  Rollins. 

"  Mr.  Riverius  is  on  the  jam  above.  Call  to 
Ance  to  wait.  Please  do,  and  quickly;"  for  the 
axe-blows  fell  now  to  right,  now  to  left.  "  Stop 
the  men.     Don't  let  them  pull." 

Rollins  said,  "  It's  too  late.  Guess  he'll  git  off. 
Got  as  good  a  show  as  Ance,  anyway,"  and  then, 
in  a  lower  voice,  to  the  men  at  the  rope,  "  Some 
folks  is  awful  valuable." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  105 

Bessy  Preston  heard,  and,  hearing,  flushed.  She 
turned  aside  a  moment  to  hide  her  risen  color. 
Some  flush  from  the  head,  some  from  the  heart. 
She  did  not  ask  now  whence  came  the  red  signal, 
but  found  it  impossible  to  speak  again  to  Rollins. 
The  sneer  was  coarse,  and  struck  like  a  base  bludg- 
eon. She  took  it  proudly,  not  answering  as  the 
sallow  round-shouldered  man  would  have  wished. 
To  say  a  word  more  was  not  so  much  to  humble 
herself  as  to  humble  Riverius.  She  had  caught 
the  faint  grin  on  those  stolid  faces.  It  seemed 
but  a  jest  of  peril  to  them,  and  how  they  took 
Rollins's  words  was  plain.  "  He  must  abide  it," 
she  muttered,  instinctively  realizing  the  German's 
pride  and  his  dislike  of  obligation.  The  next  mo- 
ment, with  a  prayer  of  thankfulness,  she  saw  him 
on  the  bluff  a  hundred  yards  beyond,  with  Paul 
at  his  side.  He  had  failed  to  find  an  easy  access 
to  the  place  he  desired  to  reach,  and,  rightly  guess- 
ing that  he  would  be  given  scant  time,  and  hear- 
ing no  shot,  had  turned  back  from  almost  certain 
death.  Never  more  than  at  that  moment  had 
Bessy  Preston  felt  glad  of  the  temperament  which 
grew  calm  in  peril.  Never  before  had  she  been 
so  tested.  For  a  moment  she  had  had  the  wild 
impulse  to  appeal  to  the  men.  It  would  have  an- 
swered ;  she  knew  her  power ;  but  the  price, — the 
price !  Now  she  turned  to  look,  at  ease  for  the 
time.  The  great  pine  log  bent  over,  the  men 
hauled  fiercely,  slacked  the  rope  and  hauled  again, 
aiding  it  as  it  sprang  towards  them.  Of  a  sudden 
the  vast  stem  of  pine,  feeling  the  immense  pressure, 


106  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

gave  way,  the  pulling  gang  of  men  rolled  laughing 
on  the  ground,  and  instantly  the  nearer  logs  broke 
loose.  Then  there  was  a  pause,  a  strange  stir,  far 
and  near,  sounds  of  fierce  jostle,  crush  and  grind, 
and  at  last  a  sudden  and  violent  commotion  as  the 
whole  mass  of  huge  logs  broke  up  and  began  to 
sweep  by  with  indescribable  tumult,  now  stayed  a 
second,  now  off  again.  The  physical  consequences 
of  the  gigantic  forces  set  free  were  such  as  none 
could  predict.  Amidst  roar  and  crash  and  crunch 
and  strange  shrieking  grinding  notes  of  the  fury 
of  intense  frictions,  a  forest  of  logs  fled  past. 
Trunks  forty  feet  long  shot  out  here  and  there, 
straight  up  in  air,  and- fell  shattered  on  the  mass 
below  them.  White  and  yellow  jets  of  tortured 
water  dashed  up  to  half  the  height  of  the  bluff 
from  a  churned  mass  of  foam  thick  and  spumy 
with  the  shed  sap  and  ground  bark.  With  destruc- 
tive fury  the  great  whirling  logs  smote  the  shores 
and  swept  as  with  a  scythe  the  trees  along  the 
banks,  and  so  with  the  dead  and  living  things  of 
the  wood  fled  madly  downward,  carrying  ruin  to 
left  and  right. 

After  one  wild  hurrah,  even  the  loggers  rested 
silent  on  their  axe-helves  or  log-hooks.  The  terror 
or  sublimity  of  the  sight  held  Elizabeth  Preston 
breathless,  and  for  the  time  did  her  good  service 
by  dwarfing  or  overpowering  all  other  feelings. 
Then  she  heard  Rollins  remark,  "  There's  a  lot  of 
them  logs  busted,  and  mostly  mine's  in  the  thick 
of  it."  Philetus  stood  intensely  realizing  through 
his  hearing  alone  the  well-known  thing  he  could 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  J  07 

not  see,  and  by  his  side  Consider  Kinsman,  bearing 
nothing,  was  at  intervals  describing  in  his  habitual 
way  the  chaotic  scene.  "  Jerusher,  but  there's  a 
log  went  nigh  thirty  feet  out  of  water.  Busted, 
by  George !  Never  seed  nothin'  like  it."  And  he 
pulled  his  friend's  ear  gently,  as  a  conventional  sign 
of  desire  to  know  what  his  own  lost  sense  failed  to 
give.  Philetus  understood,  and  faced  him,  speak- 
ing with  distinct  articulation,  "  It's  like  the  damned 
broke  loose,  Con.  It's  like  the  devils  on  a  spree. 
Them  trees  has  souls.  All  things  has  bodies,  but 
there  is  a  spiritual  body.  Hear  'em  yell.  Hear 
'em  howl." 

Mrs.  Preston  turned  to  listen.  He  was  at  his 
strangest.  Philetus  rarely  indulged  her  so  freely 
with  his  fragmentary  phrases  of  half  meanings,  and 
was  really  addressing  only  his  friend.  Something 
about  her  was  apt  to  bring  him  down  to  lower 
levels.  Now  the  pair  as  they  gazed  or  listened 
interested  her  greatly.     "It  is  terrible,"  she  said. 

"  And  it  were  all  set  for  to  be,"  returned  Phile- 
tus. "  When  them  trees  was  little  sprouts  it  were 
to  be,  and  they  growed,  and  growed,  and  here  they 
be  tormented  like.  An'  men  '11  live  in  'em  when 
they're  houses  and  not  know." 

"  You  should  have  been  a  preacher,"  said  Ei- 
verius  at  his  side. 

Phil  was  too  far  on  his  way  to  be  stopped  by  the 
laughing  tone  of  the  German's  remark. 

"Preacher?"  he  said.  "I  ain't  no  more  a 
preacher  than  the  Lord  lets  me  be.  Them  logs  is 
preachin'  now.     You  just  listen  to  them." 


108  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"It's  a  good  deal  like  a  camp-meeting,"  said 
Kiverius, — "  about  as  chaotic,  and  about  as  reason- 
able." 

"  I'm  not  ag'in'  camp-meetin's.  When  you  meets 
them  thar  logs  in  heaven,  you'll  know  better." 

Riverius  smiled.  "  Well,  it's  not  very  clear  to 
me  at  present.  I  can  wait.  I  hope  that  boom  will 
hold.     What  does  Rollins  say  ?" 

They  were  now  alone  on  the  cliff,  the  logs  float- 
ing tranquilly  by  them  in  thousands,  now  pausing, 
now  set  in  motion  by  a  dozen  busy  men  who  leaped 
with  agility  from  one  rolling  log  to  another,  push- 
ing this  and  holding  that  trunk,  a  manly  and  ex- 
citing spectacle. 

Presently  Consider  touched  the  sleeve  of  Rive- 
rius.  The  German,  who  by  this  time  understood 
the  man,  followed  him  apart  and  waited.  The 
deaf  woodman  hesitated.  At  last  he  said,  "  Ance 
is  come  back."  It  was  useless  to  speak,  and  Rive- 
rius  merely  nodded.  "  He  don't  like  you,  sir;  and 
Rollins  he  ain't  forgave  you,  nuther,  about  that 
mill." 

"Ah!" 

"  Ef  I  was  you,  sir,  I'd  git  away  from  here  till 
them  fellers  simmers  down  a  bit." 

Riverius  shook  his  head.  "I?  Not  I."  A  look 
of  scorn  crossed  his  face;  but  he  took  the  wood- 
man's hand,  to  show  that  he  thanked  him,  and 
turned  away. 

"  Don't  skeer  more  nor  a  rattlesnake,"  said  Con- 
sider. "  Well,  I  done  my  dooty.  And  Phil  don't 
love  him,  nuther.      It's   queer.      Guess  ef   Myry 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  109 

Richmond  didn't  think  sech  a  heap  of  him,  Phil 
would  'a'  liked  him  better.  He's  pizen  jealous. 
That's  his  eyes.  Phil  ain't  one  as  likes  to  be 
looked  down  on,  nuther,  and  he  hadn't  oughter 
be." 

The  danger  indicated  did  not  disturb  Eiverius 
for  a  moment.  He  had  been  among  bullets  in  his 
youth,  and  the  open-air  life  of  the  woods  has 
always  a  remarkable  power  to  keep  men  free  from 
nervous  sense  of  risks.  Presently  he  went  away 
to  walk  home  with  Paul  and  his  mother.  The  in- 
fluence of  an  unusual  excitement  made  them  silent, 
and  they  moved  thoughtfully  through  the  darken- 
ing wood-spaces,  and  by  dusk  reached  the  cabin. 
She,  at  least,  had  more  than  enough  to  think  over 
to  make  her  grateful  for  the  absence  of  talk. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

The  next  day  Riverius  went  again  over  to  Olean, 
across  the  New  York  line,  and  was  gone  a  week, 
about  some  of  the  machinery  for  the  mill,  at  which 
Philetus  and  Consider  had  been  working  steadily. 
It  was  now  ready  for  the  saw  and  gearing,  the 
natural  dam  above  it  having  been  raised  and 
strengthened.  To  leave  annoyed  Riverius;  it  was 
like  declining  a  challenge ;  but  he  was  too  proud 
to  stay  merely  because  of  any  possible  opinion,  and 
it  was  but  for  a  week. 

The  day  before  his  return,  Paul  sat  under  a  tree 
at  his  lessons,  his  mother  near  him,  her  work  in  her 
lap.  Miriam  had  come  over  for  a  call,  and  the 
small  maid  was,  as  usual,  busy  teasing,  attracting, 
or  caressing  Paul.  Now  she  was  pelting  him  with 
acorns. 

"  Oh,  can't  you  quit?"  he  said.  "  You're  worse 
than  vulgar  fractions." 

Next  she  was  behind  him,  tickling  his  neck  with 
a  straw. 

"  Hang  the  flies !"  said  Paul.  "  Oh,  it's  you. 
Now  you  let  me  alone,  and  when  I've  done  we'll 
build  a  dam." 

The  child  preferred  more  instant  attention  to 
so  remote  a  prospect.  "  I'll  help  you,"  she  said. 
"  Tell  Phely  'bout  'rithmetic." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  m 

"  One  and  one  makes  bother,"  cried  Paul. 
"  That's  'rithmetic,"  and,  so  saying,  fled  to  the 
house,  while  Miriam  laughed. 

"  He  might  just  play  a  little,"  she  said.  "  We 
don't  get  over  that  often." 

Mrs.  Preston,  in  a  brown  study,  looked  up.  "  He 
must  do  his  lessons.  That  is  my  rule.  Ophelia 
can  wait." 

The  child's  mother  was  silent.  Then  she  said, 
"  That's  the  way.  Boys  have  the  best  of  it.  Girls 
must  wait  till  they  want  them.  It's  the  same  with 
us  women.     It's  wait  and  wait." 

"  Really,"  said  Mrs.  Preston,  "  you  are  rather 
discontented  in  your  ideas,  Miriam.  It  seems  very 
simple  to  me." 

"  And  where's  Mr.  Riverius  ?" 

"He  has  gone  to  Olean  for  a  week." 

"  You  must  miss  him.  He's  just  a  lovely  man ; 
and  his  manners — he's  just  like  a  duke." 

"  I  never  saw  a  duke." 

"  But  you  miss  him.  I  would.  He  don't  come 
over  none  now.  It's  funny,  Mrs.  Preston,  but  my 
man's  jealous  of  him." 

"  Oh,  not  really  ?"  The  gossip  annoyed  her. 
"  You  are  sure  you  have  not  been  foolish,  Miriam  ? 
I,  I  mean — well,  you  know,  it  is  quite  natural  Mr. 
Riverius  should  think  you  handsome.  The  fact  is, 
you  are.     I  fancy  you  know  it." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  But,  good  gracious  !  I  like 
Mr.  Riverius, — of  course  I  like  him, — he's  that 
kind,  but  he  ain't  no  more  to  compare  to  Philetus 
Richmond  than — than — well,  I  don't  know  wThat. 


112  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

He  hasn't  got  his  wisdom.  And  for  looks, — well ! 
And  Phil  isn't  drinking  now." 

"  For  that  you  may  thank  Mr.  Riverius." 

"  And  I  do.     I  told  Phil  so  Sunday." 

"  That  was  not  very  wise." 

"  I  don't  see  why." 

"  You  cannot  know  men,  my  dear,  if  you  cannot 
see  that." 

"He  didn't  like  it,  that's  a  fact."  Then  there 
was  a  pause. 

"  How  have  your  potatoes  done  ?" 

"  Oh,  first-rate.     And  yours  ?" 

"  Pretty  well." 

"Phil  says  the  mill  will  be  running  in  two 
weeks." 

"Yes." 

"  They've  got  orders  already." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  hear  Ance  Vickers  broke  the  jam.  I  wish 
he'd  stay  away." 

"  Yes,  it  is  desirable." 

"  There,  I've  dropped  a  stitch." 

"  Mrs.  Richmond,  Miriam,  can  I  trust  you  ?  I 
want  to  ask  you  a  question,  and  I  want  to  feel  sure 
that  you  will  never  speak  of  it." 

"  Madam,  I  shall  be  as  silent  as  Laertes." 

Bessy  Preston  smiled.  "  We  do  not  know  how 
well  he  kept  his  pledge,  but  that  will  answer." 
She  paused  :  speech  was  hard. 

"  Have  you  heard  any  one  say  anything  unpleas- 
ant about  Mr.  Riverius  and  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing  just  unpleasant." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST  113 

"Well,  anything?" 

"  I  might  have  heard  something.  Folks  will 
talk,  but " 

"  You  will  do  me  a  true  kindness  by  being 
frank." 

"  Well,  they  do  say  things." 

"  Such  as "  urged  Bessy,  firmly. 

"  Oh,  foolishness.  You  know,  in  the  camps  and 
around,  men  will  talk." 

"  I  must  insist  that  you  be  more  plain." 

"Well,  if  I  must.  It's  nothing  more  than  just 
the  way  they  always  talk." 

"  Oh,  will  you  go  on  ?" 

"It's  nothing  worse  than  that  maybe  you're  a 
little  sweet  on  Mr.  Riverius.  They  do  laugh  about 
it  a  bit,  Rollins  and " 

"  Not  Philetus,  surely?" 

"  My  man's  not  much  better  than  the  rest.  He 
will  have  his  joke.  You  oughtn't  to  mind  it  any. 
I've  often  heard  folks  saying  such-like  things  about 
me, — before  I  took  Phil,  of  course ;  not  now.  You 
can  be  right  sure  I  spoke  up  and  gave  them  a  piece 
of  my  mind." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Bessy.  "  Excuse  me.  I'll 
be  back  in  a  minute."  She  went  around  the 
kitchen,  drew  up  the  bucket  from  the  cool  well, 
took  a  long  draught,  and  went  back.  "  We  have 
a  few  egg-plants,  Miriam.  Will  you  take  some 
home?" 

"  Thank  you.     And  about  that  ?" 

"  Oh,  we  will  drop  it.  I  was  curious,  of  course. 
You  will  kindly  remember  not  to  speak  of  it." 


114  FAR   IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  Not  while  I  exist,"  said  the  actress,  solemnly. 

"  And  if — if  it  occurs  again,  be  kind  enough  to 
— well,  don't  defend  me,  that's  all." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  worth  while." 

"  No,  it  is  not.  Come  in.  I  must  hear  Paul's 
lessons." 

The  day  went  by,  and  quite  late  Miriam  had 
gone  away  with  the  attractive  Phely,  who  knew 
neither  pause  nor  rest  and  was  as  little  like  the  shy 
Ophelia  as  a  babbling  brook  is  like  a  mountain  lake. 
Glad  to  be  alone,  Mrs.  Preston  went  through  her 
daily  tasks  next  day,  silent  and  absorbed  in  thought. 
Time  had  been  when  she  ceased  to  see  or  to  think 
of  Riverius  during  his  frequent  absences.  But  now 
she  was  annoyed  to  find  that  the  face  and  form  of 
her  friend  haunted  her.  She  began  to  have  those 
uneasy  heart-stirs  at  his  coming,  and  constancy  of 
remembrance  when  he  was  away,  which  at  least  to 
the  matured  woman  are  full  of  meaning.  Sud- 
denly she  said,  aloud,  "  I  cannot  stand  it.  It  is 
dreadful.  I  must  end  it."  She  dropped  her  work 
and  went  out.  With  slow,  half-guided  steps,  she 
went  past  the  well,  and,  mechanically  lifting  her 
skirts,  passed  among  the  blackened  stumps  and 
came  to  the  snake  fence.  Here  she  saw  that  she 
had  missed  the  point  where  four  bars,  loosely  let 
into  the  posts,  answered  for  a  gate-way.  She  turned 
aside,  let  down  a  lower  rail,  stooped,  and,  passing 
under,  went  on  into  the  open  grove  of  pines. 

For  a  few  weeks  after  her  husband's  death,  she 
had  more  than  once  stood  beside  his  grave.  It  had 
been  hard  to  do.    The  thoughts  and  feelings  conven- 


FAR   IN  THE  FOREST.  H5 

tionally  assigned  to  women  in  her  situation  were  not 
hers.  She  had  looked  at  the  heap  on  which  the  pine 
needles  were  gathering,  and  had  left  it,  angry  with 
herself,  or  at  least  troubled,  because  the  far-away 
remembrance  of  a  golden  morning  had  not  power 
to  make  her  forget  the  clouded  sadness  of  a  later 
time.  She  was  capable  of  desiring  to  be  honest 
with  herself  about  the  man  she  left  beneath  the 
pines,  but  revolted  from  facing  the  full  truth,  and 
soon  found  for  herself  the  excuse  that  there  was 
no  need  to  balance  the  account  between  them.  In 
the  dreadful  revealing  light  of  his  later  days  she 
had  been  led  to  see  how  little  he  had  ever  been 
to  her  at  his  best,  and  had  made  haste  to  put  it  all 
aside.  But  now,  now  it  was  otherwise.  Myste- 
rious impulses  drew  or  urged  her  to  stand  again 
where  she  had  been  but  seldom  since  those  first 
sad  visits,  when  the  strong  dutiful  effort  to  forgive 
had  brought  back  to  her  such  a  host  of  miserable 
memories  that  she  had  hesitated  at  last  to  repeat  a 
disastrous  effort.  Shred  by  shred  he  had  torn 
from  her  friends,  position,  her  boy's  means  and  her 
own,  and,  worst  of  all,  had  as  recklessly  cast  away 
her  enormous  capacity  to  love,  taking  all  that  with 
boundless  generosity  she  gave,  and  giving  ever  less 
and  less  in  return.  What  another  man  might  have 
made  of  her  proud,  passionate,  self-contained  nature 
she  had  had  no  chance  to  know.  She  was  a  woman 
to  be  won  through  her  exquisite  joy  in  giving,  and, 
because  he  was  feeble  and  needed  her,  the  bond  of 
love  had  held  her  long.  But  now !  She  was  sore 
beset.     Two  or  three  weeks  had  brought  her  face 


116  FAR  7Ar  THE   FOREST. 

to  face  with  certain  facts  from  which  many  other 
women  would  have  shyly  retreated,  putting  off  the 
unpleasant  day  of  self-reckoning.  It  was  not  her 
way.  She  went  always  to  meet  danger,  and  pro- 
tected herself  by  courageous  settlements  of  a  doubt 
or  difficulty.  Moreover,  she  had  a  certain  recti- 
tude even  in  her  sentiments.  She  looked  sadly 
on  the  grave,  covered  with  pine  needles.  For 
a  half-hour  she  stood,  silent,  swayed  by  many 
thoughts.  At  last  she  murmured,  "  Never,  never ! 
Life  is  over.  Ah,  why  am  I  a  woman  ?  Good- 
by."  And  she  turned  and  went  away,  conscious 
how  terrible  it  was  for  her  to  stand  there  with  the 
full,  indisputable  knowledge  that  another  love  was 
setting  her  heart  in  a  tumult  of  shame  and  self- 
reproach.  For  as  to  this,  too,  she  had  no  margin 
of  doubt.  Hope  she  had  none.  Riverius  had  been 
always  the  cool,  reserved,  definitely  friendly  man. 
Of  his  true  life,  station,  and  means  she  knew  but 
little.  Clever  enough  to  see  that  he  felt  that  he 
owed  her  a  debt,  and  that  he  also  liked  her,  she 
was  pleased  that  he  ceased  to  embarrass  her  by  too 
much  talk  as  to  what  she  had  done  for  him.  She 
was  at  no  loss  to  see  that  he  did  not  love  her.  But 
how  thoughtful  he  was !  In  a  dozen  careless  ways 
he  might  have  subjected  her  to  the  scandalous  gos- 
sip which  now,  with  no  shadow  of  reason,  had  at 
last  arisen.  A  hard  task  was  before  her.  Would 
Riverius  understand  her?  She  had  some  pleasant 
confidence  that  he  would.  But — and  she  flushed 
scarlet,  giddy  with  the  mounting  blood — how 
should  she  find  words  to  speak?     And   yet  she 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  117 

must.  It  was  Paul's  life  as  well  as  her  own  that 
was  in  question.     That  at  last  decided  her. 

Riverius  came  home  in  high  good  humor,  and 
went  away  at  once  to  the  mill.  Thence  he  sent 
hack  Paul  to  bring  him  a  measuring-tape  and  a 
level.  The  boy  searched  in  vain.  At  last  he 
crossed  the  clearing  and  asked  his  mother  to  aid 
his  search.  "  He  is  in  an  awful  hurry,  mother," 
he  said. 

She  came  to  the  fence.  "  I  would  rather  not 
look  among  his  things,  Paul.  Tell  him  you  can- 
not find  them." 

"  Oh,  but  do  come  !" 

"  Do  as  I  say." 

"  All  right,"  he  answered,  and  returned  to  the 
mill,  where  he  simply  related  what  had  passed. 

Riverius  reflected.  "  Ach,  we  must  wait  till  to- 
morrow.    Come  along,  Paul." 

The  boy  chattered,  asking,  as  usual,  numberless 
questions,  to  which  his  companion  made  but  brief 
reply.  He,  too,  was  beginning  to  think.  He  well 
knew  that  had  she  done  as  Paul  desired  he  would 
not  have  liked  it.  She  had  been  always  a  charming 
companion,  modest,  reticent,  reserved,  intelligent, 
full  of  the  best  tact,  a  thoroughly  well-bred  woman, 
yet  capable  of  simple,  friendly  interest,  and  now  so 
noble  to  see.  The  brown  drift  of  hair  had  made 
her  look  older  when  she  was  pale  and  worn ;  now 
it  only  served  to  emphasize  the  growing  bloom  of 
cheek,  the  fuller  form,  the  light  easy  strength  of 
movement,  which  could  hurry  without  loss  of 
stately  grace.     Next  his  mind  wandered  away  to 


113  FAR   IN  THE  FOREST. 

his  Saxon  home,  and  he  strode  along  ignoring  the 
lad  at  his  side.  "  It  is  well  that  I  should  go  away," 
he  thought.  Some  gossip  of  the  camp  had  reached 
him  also.  He  would  think  of  it  alone  that  night. 
"Der  Teufel!"  he  muttered;  "  why  did  she  not 
fall   out  of  that  boat?     I  should  have  upset  it, 

and Well,  all  debts  are  disagreeable,  and  this 

seems  hopeless.  Would  she  let  me  educate  the 
boy  ?  That  would  be  worth  doing.  What  a  man 
he  will  make !  And  at  home, — well,  I  suppose  he 
would  be  talked  of  as  my  son.  Himmel !  This 
world  is  a  difficult  place  to  live  in." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Some  days  went  by,  and  Mrs.  Preston's  inten- 
tions were  not  carried  out.  She  saw,  in  fact,  little 
of  Riverius.  He  was  here  and  there,  hunting  with 
Paul,  surveying  land,  chaffering  with  woodmen, 
loggers,  and  raftsmen, — in  fact,  a  restless,  ardent 
nature,  interested  in  many  things,  and  capable  of 
calm  and  thorough  self-government. 

And  now  the  mill  was  finished,  after  much  de- 
lay. There  were  some  improvements, — machines 
for  hauling  logs  up  to  the  sharp  jams  of  the  saws, 
— and  as  to  these  opinions  differed  in  the  woods 
and  among  the  loggers.  Would  Mrs.  Preston  go 
over  to  see  the  mill  start  ?  And  perhaps  he  might 
also  ask  Miriam  and  the  little  Ophelia.  When 
Riverius  mentioned  it  to  Philetus,  he  said  that 
Mrs.  Richmond  was  busy  making  apple-butter  and 
couldn't  come.  Obstacles  small  or  great  in  a  less 
or  larger  degree  excited  the  German.  He  said  no 
more,  but  walked  over  the  hills  that  afternoon  and 
promptly  disposed  of  apple-butter  and  all  other  dif- 
ficulties. When  she  so  told  Philetus,  he  said,  "  He 
oughter  took  my  word.  I  said,  says  I,  'Mr.  Ryve- 
rus,  my  wife's  apple-butterin','  and  that  oughter  of 
answered  for  most  folks." 

"But  I'm  right  glad  it  didn't,  Phil.  He  was 
that  nice  about  it,  and  he  said  I  was  to  persuade 
you,  because  it  was  you  had  fixed  it,  and  no  other 


120  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

man  on  the  river  could  have  thought  to  do  it. 
And  the  new  log-drag, — he  said  you  understood 
that  just  as  if  you  had  invented  it." 

"  Did  he  say  all  that  'ere,  Myry  ?  You've  got  a 
way  of  standin'  up  and  actin'  things  like  I  can 
seem  to  see  you." 

"  Oh,  he  said  it  all." 

"  Then  he  said  a  heap  too  much,"  muttered  the 
blind  man. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Philetus  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  ear-blind." 

"Look  here,  Philetus  Richmond,  you've  been 
a-saying  things  the  past  few  weeks  that  hurts  me 
awful.  I  never  looked  at  another  man  to  liken 
him  to  you  since  we  were  made  one.  Mr.  Riverius 
is  a  kind  man  and  a  gentleman,  and  you're  making 
a  fool  of  yourself.  The  way  you  let  that  Rollins 
talk  about  him  and  Mrs.  Preston  is  a  shame.  Oh, 
you  needn't  kiss  me.  I'm  angry.  That  spoils 
kissing.  And  whiskey  kisses  are  not  to  my  taste, 
sir, — not  at  all.  When  you  take  a  little  drink  you 
get  to  be  a  fool.  I  don't  believe  Solomon  could  have 
stood  corn  whiskey  and  just  kept  up  being  wise." 

"  Lord,  Myry,  what  a  tongue  you've  got !  I 
ain't  never  had  sech  a  goin'-over.  As  for  Ryve- 
rus " 

"  You  just  let  him  alone,  Phil.  For  a  right 
smart  man,  you  can  get  yourself  to  believe  more 
nonsense  than  the  biggest  ass  in  Rollins's  camp. 
If  you  think  I  'ain't  made  a  good  wife,  you'd  best 
say  so.  I'm  getting  wore  out,  what  with  your  no- 
tions and  your  visions." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  121 

The  wifely  indictment  was  just,  and  Philetus 
knew  it  for  the  time.  Morbidness  like  his  is  apt 
enough  to  fall  before  the  shaft  of  reason,  sped  from 
the  bow  of  whole-minded  vigor. 

"  I  don't  say  I  ain't  wrong,  Myry.  I'm  kind  of 
flurried  in  the  head  these  last  weeks." 

"It's  whiskey,  Phil." 

"No,  it  ain't.  A  man  that's  a  thinkin'  man, 
Myry,  he  gits  some  foolishness  a-simmerin'  in  his 
head,  and  then  he  jus'  gits  het  up  and  sets  all  his 
reason  to  bilin'  his  folly." 

"  Well,  I  wish  it  would  boil  over  and  put  out  the 
fire  and  leave  me  some  peace.  Half  the  time  of 
late  I  can't  tell  what  you  mean." 

The  blind  man  swept  a  hand  across  his  brow. 
"  What's  the  time  of  day,  Myry  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  somewhat  amazed.  "  About 
five,"  she  said.  "  The  clock  isn't  right.  It's  'most 
a  half-hour  wrong." 

Of  a  sudden,  "  I  thought  it  was  midnight.  That's 
strange.     I  guess  I  was  dreamin'." 

"You  can't  be  just  well,  Phil.  If  you  would 
only  quit  liquor  and  see  if  it  isn't  that." 

At  this  moment  Ophelia  appeared  from  without. 
"  Give  me  a  ride  on  your  shoulders,"  she  cried. 
He  picked  her  up,  glad  of  the  diversion. 

"What  makes  your  breath  smell  so?  Phely 
doesn't  like  you  when  you  smell  bad." 

He  set  her  down  silently,  feeling  that  his  troubles 
were  multiplying.     "You're  cryin',  Myry,"  he  said. 

"  She  does  cry  right  often,"  said  Ophelia.  "  What 
hurts  mother?" 


122  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  I'm  a  bad  man,  baby,"  groaned  the  blind 
giant. 

"  Ob,  Phil,  don't !"  said  the  wife.  "  Don't,— not 
before  the  child.     I  won't  go  to  the  mill." 

"  And  I  say  you  must,"  said  Philetus.  "  Don't 
you  go  to  think  I  care  for  Pyverus." 

"  Phely  will  go,"  said  the  child. 

"  I  don't  seem  to  care  about  it." 

"  Well,  you're  a-goin',  and  Pve  said  it." 

"Very  well,  I'll  go." 

On  a  pleasant  day  well  into  September  the  little 
party  left  Mrs.  Preston's  cabin  to  see  the  work- 
ing of  the  new  machinery  which  had  so  much 
interested  the  loggers.  Above  them  the  hickories 
yellowed,  the  gum-tree  cast  its  crimson  leaves,  the 
maples  were  red  and  gold,  and  the  dogwood  wore 
its  livery  of  deepening  red.  Beneath  their  feet 
the  leaves  were  rustling  thick,  and  the  air  was 
full  of  sailing,  drifting  leaves,  a  Hitting  rain  of 
varied  colors.  Decision  had  left  her  calm  and  less 
unhappy. 

"  How  different,"  she  said,  "  our  autumns  must 
be  from  those  of  Europe !  Ours  are  always  so 
beautiful  that  one  is  bribed  to  forget  the  sadness 
of  decay  and  change." 

"  Certainly  our  German  autumn  is  more  dreary, 
the  colors  less  bright.  Look  at  that  scarlet  vine 
around  the  dead  pine,  and  on  the  rocks  too  against 
the  gray.  You  should  see  an  autumn  in  Maine, 
when  no  leaf  has  dropped  and  when  a  light  snow 
has  fallen.  The  leaves  set  against  its  whiteness 
are  past  belief  as  things  of  this  earth." 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  123 

"  Well,  to  come  back  to  it,"  said  Mrs.  Preston, 
"  I  forgot  to  ask  if  you  got  your  letters.  There 
were  several.  A  man  brought  them  over  from 
Olean.     Paul  left  them  in  your  cabin." 

"  Yes,  I  got  them.     They  brought  me  bad  news." 

"  I  am  very  sorry." 

"  My  brother  is  very  ill."  He  said  no  more, — 
nothing  of  his  plans,  nor  of  how  the  news  affected 
him.  For  a  moment  both  were  silent.  Then  she 
said,  firmly, — 

"  Mr.  Riverius,  you  have  been  a  good  friend  to 
Paul  and  to  me." 

He  looked  up  surprised.    "  I  have  wished  to  be." 

"  Has  it  ever  happened  to  you  to  hear  any — any 
one  talk  lightly  of  me — it  is  very  hard  to  say — and 
of  you?" 

He  glanced  at  her,  and  looked  aside,  not  seeking 
her  flushed  face  again.  "I  respect  you  too  much, 
madam,  not  to  answer  honestly.  Mrs.  Richmond 
did  once  hint  to  me " 

"  That  will  do.  These  long  tongues  are  some- 
times useful.  I  have  heard  as  much, — quite  too 
much.  I  am  alone ;  my  boy  is  all  I  have.  It  be- 
comes me  to  be  more  than  merely  prudent.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  go  away.  It  is  not,  it  will 
not  be,  very  easy,  but  I  must  do  it.  I  shall  go  to 
New  York.  I  have  some  talents,  as  you  know, 
and  I  can  get  on,  and  after  a  while  Paul  will  be 
able  to  earn  something." 

He  raised  his  hand. 

"One  moment,"  she  said.  "You  are  a  gentle- 
man.    You  will,  I  know,  understand  me,  and — 


124  FAR   IN   THE   FOREST. 

and  not  try  to  read  between  my  words  when  there 
is  nothing  to  read." 

"  Mrs.  Preston " 

"  Please  don't  discuss  it.     It  is  very  simple." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  discuss  it.  You  are  right ; 
but  there  is  an  easier  way.  I  have  all  my  life  been 
cursed  with  a  certain  ridiculous  aversion  to  talk 
over  my  own  affairs.     I " 

"  There  is  no  need  to,"  she  said,  proudly. 

"  Oh,  but  there  is.  I  came  here  a  stranger,  and 
you  saved  my  life.  I  would  rather — well,  I  hardly 
mean  what  I  was  about  to  say,  that  I  would  rather 
you  had  not.  But  that  would  be  absurd.  Life 
is  pleasant  to  me,  and  more  now  than  ever." 

She  trembled.     What  did  he  mean  ? 

"  I  have  learned  from  you,  madam,  many  lessons. 
You  have  been  a  good  friend.  Of  course  I  under- 
stand you.  If  I  had  had  more  easy  willingness 
to  talk  about  myself,  I  should  have  saved  you  an 
unpleasantness.  I  had  meant  to  go  away  as  soon 
as  the  mill  was  done.  My  news  of  to-day  makes 
most  needful  that  I  do  go  at  once." 

"  It  is  quite  as  well,"  she  answered, — "  quite  as 
well.  When  do  you  go  ?"  She  was  vexed  with 
him  and  with  herself. 

"  To-morrow.  I  shall  hope  not  to  be  altogether 
forgotten.     And  you  will  answer  my  letters  ?" 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must." 

"I  dare  say  Paul  will  write  to  you."  It  was 
getting  to  be  a  little  too  much  for  her.  "  How 
lovely  that   sumach   is !     Paul,  Paul,"  she   cried. 


FAR  IN   THE  FOREST.  125 

The  boy  looked  back.    "  Be  careful ;  you  will  upset 
the  lunch." 

Had  Piverius  been  a  vainer  man,  he  would  have 
had  some  suspicion  of  the  tumult  in  her  heart. 
Her  great  self-control  aided  to  deceive  him.  She 
said,  with  a  pretty  shyness  which  had  a  certain  mys- 
terious grace  in  a  woman  of  her  height  and  general 
gravity  — 

"  You  will  think  me  a  very  singular  person,  Mr. 
Eiverius.  But  you  will,  I  trust,  allow  something 
for  my  free  wood-life  and  the  need  one  has  here  to 
be  decisive." 

"  If  I  say  what  I  think  of  you,  Mrs.  Preston,  it 
will  be  that  you  have  some  of  the  best  qualities 
that  belong  to  the  best  men.  You  will  credit  me 
with  the  fact  that  I  never  paid  you  a  compliment 
before." 

Bessy  Preston  scarcely  relished  the  compliment. 
She  laughed.  "  Well,  that  is  a  good  thing  for 
Paul.  Oh  !  I  see  the  mill.  How  large  it  is !  Ah, 
my  poor  pines  !     How  they  will  go  !" 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  I  had  bought  Simpson's  tract. 
We  need  the  wood." 

"  Why,  it  is  thirty  thousand  acres." 

"A  little  more." 

"  Oh,  is  it?"  She  could  not  help  reflecting  that 
he  would  at  some  time  have  to  return.  "  Who 
will  look  after  the  mill  ?" 

"  I  can  trust  Philetus  until  I  come  back.  I 
suppose  now  that  you  will  not  have  to  leave." 

"  No,  I  shall  stay.  Frankly,  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  go." 


126  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

He  did  not  say  when  he  would  return,  and  both 
had  by  this  time  recovered  their  full  self-control. 
She,  at  least,  was  glad  to  escape  so  readily  from  a 
position  of  overwhelming  embarrassment;  and  as 
for  Riverius,  he  did  not  fully  realize  the  feelings 
which,  beginning  in  simple  friendliness  of  relation 
with  an  unusual  woman,  might  under  other  social 
circumstances  have  s;rown  to  fruitage  which  was 
unsuggested  by  the  merely  pleasant  florescence  of 
what  seemed  to  him  hardly  more  than  a  grateful 
comradeship.  Then,  also,  he  was  much  moved  by 
the  morning's  news.  It  was,  as  he  knew,  a  serious 
factor  in  his  life,  and,  while  it  might  leave  him 
more  free  in  certain  ways,  was  with  his  peculiar 
ideas  and  education  as  likely  to  render  him  in 
others  far  less  independent.  Should  he  tell  her  ? 
And  why  not  ?  As  far  as  his  opportunities  had 
allowed,  he  had  a  subtle  insight  into  Bessy  Pres- 
ton's character.  Her  proud  dignity,  her  great  self- 
respect,  had  at  first  surprised  and  even  half  amused 
him  in  a  woman  poor,  friendless,  and  isolated.  As 
to  her  past  life  and  position  he  guessed  something, 
but  knew  little,  and  in  his  ignorance  of  the  pecu- 
liarities of  American  society  remained  rather  puz- 
zled ;  and  this,  perhaps,  added  to  the  interest  she 
excited.  He  had  the  idea  that  to  tell  her  all  would 
be  in  a  measure  to  widen  the  distance  between 
them;  and  this  he  was  disinclined  to  risk.  As 
he  walked  on  in  silence,  he  grew  perplexed  over 
what  seemed  to  him  so  simple  a  matter.  Then 
he  tried  the  useful  test  of  mentally  reversing  their 
relative  conditions,  and  at  once  decided  to  wait. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  127 

In  fact,  there  was  in  his  mind  a  reserve  influence 
of  faintly-felt  possibilities,  not  vigorous  enough  to 
help  him,  and  yet  such  as  served  to  make  him 
fearful. 

He  went  on  to  speak  of  Philetus,  the  business, 
the  mill,  and  of  Paul,  giving  her  useful  hints  as  to 
how  to  continue  the  boy's  education  and  how  to 
fit  herself  to  aid  it.  Then  he  said  he  would  send 
up  some  books  and  would  leave  his  painting-ma- 
terials. Never  had  he  seemed  to  her  more  thought- 
fully useful ;  and  her  heart  throbbed  unpleasantly 
at  the  idea  of  how  much  she  should  lose  by  his 
absence.  And  now  they  had  reached  the  mill. 
She  was  sorry. 

A  half-dozen  men,  afoot  or  seated  about  on  the 
stumps,  were  talking  over  their  doubts  as  to  the 
new  machinery.  Paul  was  everywhere,  amused, 
excited,  and  interested,  and  Philetus,  with  his  wife 
and  Ophelia  and  Kinsman,  stood  on  the  open  mill- 
platform.  Some  of  the  men,  smiling,  nudged  one 
another,  without  much  reserve,  and  to  the  Ger 
man's  annoyance.  Mrs.  Preston  was  coldly  indif- 
ferent, or  seemed  to  be.  At  last  two  great  iron 
clutch-hooks  were  made  fast  to  a  huge  pine  trunk 
which  Consider  had  drawn  to  the  foot  of  the 
inclined  plane,  and,  Philetus  moving  a  lever,  the 
great  sober  water-wheel  turned  around  and  the  log 
on  rollers  passed  up  the  slope  and  paused  before 
the  saw. 

"Now,"  said  Riverius  to  Miriam,  "pull  this 
lever."  He  had  meant  to  ask  Mrs.  Preston,  but 
it  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  unwise  to  put 

9 


128  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

her  forward,  and  he  turned  abruptly  to  Mrs.  Rich- 
mond. Bessy  understood  him  at  once.  She  was 
proud  to  feel  how  well  she  always  comprehended 
him. 

Philetus  was  curiously  excited.  "Now  let  her 
live!"  he  cried.  "Let  her  work!  Let  her  git  a 
soul !"  Consider  studied  his  face  with  admiration. 
Miriam,  much  pleased,  moved  the  lever,  and  at 
once  the  steel  began  to  flash,  the  teeth  bit  on  the 
log,  the  resinous  saw-dust  flew  in  yellow  spouts 
high  in  air,  and  the  men  on  the  bank  hurrahed. 
Only  Ance,  a  little  back  in  the  woods,  sat  still,  dis- 
appointed as  to  his  predictions  of  failure.  Paul 
cried  out  with  delight.  "  Just  hear  it,  Mr.  Bi- 
verius !  The  saw  says,  '  Go  it,  go  it.'  Guess  it 
seems  to  like  it." 

Philetus  laughed.  "  When  you  git  a  soul,  you'll 
talk  too,  Paul.     Boys  is  only  a  gropin',  like." 

Then  the  log  retreated,  and  was  set  to  one  side 
a  little,  and  again  the  saw  gnawed  at  it  briskly 
until  plank  on  plank  fell  from  the  great  tree  now 
on  its  way  to  men's  uses. 

Presently  Riverius  saw  Ance,  and  strolled  away 
until  he  came  beside  him.  He  felt  happy  in  his 
success,  and  was  inclined  to  leave  one  less  foe  be- 
hind him.  Smiling  at  his  own  unaggressive  and 
kindly  mood,  which  more  things  than  the  mill 
might  have  helped  to  explain,  he  touched  the 
moody  man  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Halloo,  Vickers,"  he  said.  "  I  am  going  away. 
If  you  have  forgotten  our  little  quarrel  and  will 
promise  me  not  to  drink  while  I  am  gone,  I  would 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  129 

like  you  to  go  up  to  my  new  tract  and  boss  my 
wood-gang."  It  was  thirty  miles  distant,  and  he 
had  the  idea  that  Ance  would  be  kept  away  for 
some  months  and  that  Mrs.  Preston's  fears  as  to 
Ance  and  Paul  would  be  at  an  end. 

"  I  don't  want  none  of  your  work,  Mr.  Ryverus," 
said  Ance. 

"  The  wages  will  be  good  if  you  boss  the  gang." 
The  offer  was  tempting. 

"  Darn  the  wages !  Look  here ;  you  and  me 
ain't  even.  I  ain't  no  man  to  be  bought.  Now,  I 
just  tell  you  I  ain't.  You  had  whip -hand  of  me 
once,  and  I  'ain't  forgot  it." 

"  But  you  could  not  expect  me  to  stand  by  and 
see  you  kill  that  boy.  You  would  both  have 
dropped  thirty  feet  the  next  moment.  I  can  tell 
you,  my  man,  I  did  you  a  good  service."  Resist- 
ance from  his  inferiors  annoyed  him,  and  he  was 
getting  vexed. 

"  Then  why  the  thunder  didn't  you  lick  the  boy, 
or  let  me  lick  him  ?     I'd  have  basted  him  well." 

"  That  was  not  possible,"  said  Riverius. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  not.  Little  gentlemen  can't  be 
licked  when  they  play  tricks.  Mother  wouldn't 
like  it." 

The  German  grew  pale,  and  controlled  himself 
by  an  unusual  effort. 

u  I  came  here  to  do  a  kind  act.  I  am  not  fond 
of  quarrels.  I  see  that  I  might  have  saved  myself 
the  trouble." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Ance,  insolently. 

The  German  turned  and  left  him. 


130  FAR  IN  m®  FOREST. 

"  He  ain't  afeard,"  soliloquized  the  woodman. 
"  I'd  'a'  done  it,  and  let  the  thing  slide,  but  he's 
that  air  stuck  up,  it  riles  a  man.  I'd  jus'  like  to 
throw  him  once  wrastlin' ;  then  I'd  let  the  thing 
slide."  And  he  kept  this  mood  until  he  was  drunk 
again  and  amused  the  loggers  by  threats  of  what 
he  meant  to  do  some  day. 


CHAPTER    X. 

At  break  of  day  Riverius  was  gone.  He  had 
settled  his  affairs  and  said  a  quiet  good-bj  the  night 
before  and  left  a  note  asking  Mrs.  Preston  to  see 
after  his  cabin. 

The  fall  came  fast ;  the  leaves  drifted  in  gold  and 
red  from  the  trees,  and  at  last,  in  October,  the  first 
snow  fell.  Paul  was  growing  strong  and  looked 
well.  The  German  had  said  some  things  to  him 
when  they  parted  which  had  made  the  gay  lad  more 
serious,  and,  except  as  to  an  occasional  struggle 
concerning  lessons  when  the  skates  Riverius  sent 
with  the  books  were  available,  he  gave  Bessy  little 
cause  for  trouble.  Now  and  then  came  a  letter  to 
Philetus,  who  was  too  much  with  Ance  for  his  own 
good.  Indeed,  Consider  being  ill  for  a  month, 
Richmond,  despite  Riverius's  positive  orders,  gave 
his  tempter  work  at  the  mill  till  it  ceased  to  run, 
and  then  in  the  wood-gang.  Ance  had  always  a 
supply  of  whiskey.  His  wages  were  good,  and, 
being  unmarried,  he  had  no  mouths  to  feed  save 
his  own.  The  bribe  was  too  great  for  Philetus; 
and,  as  the  man  was  now  constantly  at  their  house, 
poor  Miriam  was  in  the  utmost  trouble.  She  ap- 
pealed in  vain  to  Philetus,  and  at  last  to  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton, who,  however,  found  that  as  Philetus  drank 
more  and  more,  her  words  were  of  little  effect. 
When,  Anally,  Mrs.  Richmond  in  despair  declared 


132  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

to  her  husband  that  Ance  had  been  rude  to  her, 
and  she  did  not  dare  to  say  more,  the  blind  wood- 
man laughed.  Ance,  bow-legged,  ugly  Ance,  pre- 
sented to  him  no  such  possibilities  of  annoyance  as 
did  the  quiet,  handsome  German,  with  his  domi- 
nating ways  and  gentle  manners.  If  she  had  said 
as  much  of  Riverius,  there  would  have  been  no 
limits  to  her  husband's  rage ;  but  Ance,  who  helped 
him  and  drank  with  him,  was  too  near  for  suspicion. 
He  told  her  roughly  that  she  was  a  fool,  and  gave 
Ance  to  understand  that  maybe  somebody  had  been 
making  mischief.  Mrs.  Preston  once  or  twice  re- 
solved to  write  to  Riverius,  as  he  had  given  her  a 
banker's  address  in  London ;  but  she  found  it  hard 
to  do,  and  the  more  so  because  he  had  written  to 
Paul  but  once,  and  not  at  all  to  her.  Perhaps,  too, 
it  would  be  unwise  to  interfere. 

At  last,  when  winter  was  well  on  them,  Paul 
spoke.  The  boy  surprised  her  at  times,  as  one's 
children  occasionally  do,  by  his  sudden  attainment 
of  thoughtful ness  and  new  capacities  to  act. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  we  haven't  got  in  wood 
enough,  and  I  went  over  to  the  mill,  after  what  you 
said,  to  get  Consider  to  help  me  a  day  or  two. 
Well,  he  was  sick ;  and — do  you  know  ? — Ance 
Yickers  was  helping  to  get  down  the  saw.  I  told 
Phil,  when  I  got  a  chance,  Mr.  Riverius  wouldn't 
like  that, — Ance  being  there,  I  mean." 

"  You  were  unwise,  Paul." 

"  I  told  him,  anyhow." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  Said  it  wasn't  any  of  my  business." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  133 

"  That  was  true.  Men  do  not  like  boys  to  re- 
prove them." 

"  But  he  was  smoking, — smoking  about  a  mill ! 
Next  thing  there  will  be  a  fire." 

She  was  amused  at  the  lad. 

"  You  have  eased  your  conscience,  Paul.  You 
got  no  one  to  help  about  the  wood  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  met  Pearson.  He  says  he'll  let  us  have 
a  man." 

"  Very  well.     Now  call  Becky." 

Paul  had  by  no  means  eased  his  conscience.  He 
was  clearly  of  the  opinion  that  it  was  not  his  mother's 
business  to  interfere,  but  he  was  not  at  all  satisfied 
that,  as  the  friend  of  Riverius,  it  was  not  his  own 
duty,  and  Paul  in  his  small  way  was  beginning  to 
feel,  under  the  strong  maternal  rule,  that  duties  are 
aggressive  things  and  will  not  let  you  alone.  He 
had  also,  of  course,  a  lad's  sense  of  the  importance 
of  being  mixed  up  with  the  affairs  of  men.  Aftei 
much  boyish  reflection,  he  wrote  to  Riverius  as 
follows : 

"Dear  Sir, — I  hope  you  received  my  last  letter. 
This  one  is  more  important.  Ance  Yickers  is  at 
work  at  the  mill.  I  mean,  he  was  at  work.  And 
he  is  in  your  gang,  too.  It  is  my  opinion  the  mill 
will  get  burned  down  entirely  to  the  ground,  be- 
cause Ance  was  smoking.  Of  course  it  is  not 
burned  yet,  and  Ance  is  in  the  woods ;  so  perhaps 
it  will  not  burn  down, — which  would  be  a  great 
misfortune.  I  thought  I  would  let  you  know.  This 
is  not  on  account  of  my  not  liking  Ance  Yickers. 


134  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Mother  is  not  well.  [Here,  when  Kiverius  read 
this  grave  epistle,  he  made  haste  to  turn  the  leaf.] 
It  is  only  a  headache.  She  often  talks  about  you. 
[If  Mrs.  Preston  could  have  seen  this !]  I  told  her 
last  week  I  did  wish  you  would  come  back,  and 
I  asked  her  if  she  did  not  wish  so  too.  But  she 
did  not  say.  I  guess  she  does.  I  got  two  ground- 
hogs yesterday,  and  before  snow  fell  I  dug  out  three 
hell-benders.  They  are  in  a  tub  of  water;  but 
Becky  wants  it  to  wash,  and  I  really  do  not  know 
what  to  do  with  them.  Perhaps  you  will  not  think 
this  a  long  letter,  but  Jo  Pearson  says  he  can't  wait ; 
and  so 

"  I  am  your  friend, 

"  Paul  Preston." 

"  P.S. — I  open  this  again  to  tell  you  I  killed  four 
rattlesnakes  in  September.  One  was  four  feet  long 
and  had  seven  rattles." 

Paul's  conscience  was  a  little  uneasy  as  to  this 
letter,  and  before  long  Bessy  found  out  the  truth, 
but,  to  her  son's  surprise,  she  said  very  little,  ex- 
cept to  remark  that  he  must  be  careful  not  to 
speak  of  it  to  Philetus,  —  a  remark  which  in- 
wardly Paul  considered  as  rather  disparaging  to 
his  wisdom. 

Altogether,  Mrs.  Preston  had  a  dull  winter.  The 
snow-blockade  began  early.  Even  the  rough  wood- 
visitors  who  came  to  ask  rest,  warmth,  or  a  meal 
were  rare.  Miriam  was  cut  off  also,  and  of  late, 
indeed,  had  been  but  sorry  company.  Thaws  came 
at  unusually  brief  intervals,  so  that  the  firm-frozen, 


FAB  IN  THE  FOREST.  135 

easily-traversed  snow  surfaces  were  wanting,  and 
the  drifts  were  deep  and  perilous.  At  times  Mrs. 
Preston  ventured  out  on  snow-shoes,  or,  imprisoned 
at  home,  listened  to  the  frequent  complaints  of 
Becky,  who  was  always  going  to  leave,  and  never 
went.  There  was  painting,  also,  and  Paul's  les- 
sons, and  too  often  hours  of  unexpressed  anxiety 
when  the  boy  was  away  hunting  on  snow-shoes  and 
the  night  fell  without  his  return.  She  had  tried  to 
take  a  man's  views  of  his  needs  and  life,  and  often, 
when  in  terror  at  his  long  absence  and  the  cruel 
storm  without,  was  able  to  welcome  him  calmly 
and  with  deceitful  appearance  of  having  been  quite 
at  her  ease.  The  more  she  thought  of  Riverius, 
the  more  she  longed  for  and  yet  dreaded  his  re- 
turn. What  would  he  say?  How  would  he  look? 
How  should  she  meet  him?  She  would  be  very 
quiet  and  cool,  but  not  too  cool.  That  would 
not  do.  Then  she  reproached  herself  with  folly 
and  rushed  fiercely  into  some  manual  work.  Time 
and  loneliness  are  potent  ferments,  and  both  were 
hers. 

About  this  time  Riverius  answered  Paul.  He 
said,  however,  but  little  as  regarded  Ance.  In 
March  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Preston  : 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Preston,  —  My  hope  to  yet 
soon  return  to  the  woods  I  love  well  is  growing 
less  and  less.  My  brother's  illness  continues,  and 
it  does  seem  probable  that  I  must  go  with  him 
in  summer  to  Switzerland.  I  tire  here  of  a  life 
to  which   I  have   grown   unaccustomed,  and   de- 


136  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

sire  to  be  where  now  most  of  worldly  interests 
lie,  and  with  the  duties  they  bring."  Then  he 
went  on,  in  a  friendly  way,  to  speak  of  Paul.  To 
this  letter  she  replied  in  the  same  tone,  saying 
only  as  to  his  possible  return  that  he  would  be 
always  welcome. 

The  summer  came  and  went,  each  month  filling 
her  with  discontent  before  unknown.  At  times  the 
loneliness  seemed  intolerable ;  and  when  autumn 
passed  once  more  into  winter  and  the  evenings 
grew  long,  she  often  sat  silent  over  her  work,  won- 
dering how  long  she  could  endure  it.  At  times 
Riverius  wrote  to  Paul,  and  once  again  to  her  a  too 
brief  note,  in  which  he  said  little  except  that  he 
hoped  soon  to  see  them.  It  helped  her  to  feel  that 
there  was  even  a  chance  of  his  return.  It  was  now 
February,  some  eighteen  months  since  he  had  left. 
He  wrote  often  to  Philetus,  but  he  was  so  anxious 
about  matters  nearer  home,  that  Ance  had  passed 
out  of  his  mind  for  the  time,  and  the  evident  mis- 
management of  his  affairs  which  he  inferred  from 
the  letters  Miriam  wrote  for  Philetus  did  not  so 
annoy  him  as  under  other  circumstances  it  might 
have  done. 

It  was  now  February.  For  once  the  snow  was 
frozen  hard,  after  a  warm  rain,  and  the  trees  were 
clad  in  mail  of  ice  to  the  tips  of  every  twig.  The 
pines  and  spruces  were  great  white  cones  of  snow 
and  ice,  and  the  wind  in  the  woods  filled  all  the 
air  with  crackle  and  snap  of  the  shivered  ice  gar- 
ments on  tree  and  shrub.  Looking  out,  Bessie 
saw   coming  through   the  jewelry  of  frost-work 


FAR   IN  THE   FOREST.  137 

Philetus    Kichniond,   muscular   and   large   in   his 
great  fur  coat  and  gloves. 

"  There  is  Philetus,  Paul,"  she  said.  "  Put  on  a 
log  or  two,  and  let  him  in." 

He  did  so,  and  Philetus,  in  leggings,  moccasins, 
and  snow-shoes,  entered.  He  had  not  been  drink- 
ing :  that  was  clear. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said.  "  How  are 
your  wife  and  Ophelia?  We  miss  them.  Why, 
good  gracious,  isn't  that  Ophelia?"  A  little  red 
face,  well  muffled  in  furs,  peeped  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Phely  is  come  for  a  visit.  Phely's  nose  is  cold." 
The  child  was  wrapped  in  furs  and  strapped  on 
the  strong  father's  back.  He  undid  the  straps, 
unrolled  her  shawl,  and  set  her  down. 

"Phely  like  this  house,"  she  remarked,  com- 
placently looking  about  her.  "  Who  made  all  the 
flowers  ?" 

"Nothing  escapes  her,"  said  Mrs.  Preston, 
smiling. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Paul  ?  You  want  to  see  me. 
I  very  nice  girl." 

"  Oh,  very,"  said  Paul.  "  Nicest  girl  I  ever  saw. 
But  your  nose  is  awful  red." 

She  marched  towards  a  small  glass,  climbed  on  a 
chair,  and  surveyed  herself. 

"  I  like  my  nose  red."  Then  she  got  down  and 
went  on  a  tour  of  inspection. 

"  Who  has  made  some  new  flowers  ?  Was  it 
you,  Paul  ?" 

"No;  mother  made  them." 

"  You  can't  make  flowers  ?" 


138  FAR   IN  TEE  FOREST. 

"  No." 

Meanwhile,  Phil  took  off  his  snow-shoes  and  sat 
by  the  hard-wood  fire. 

"  Came  over  to  see  how  you  git  on.  Myry 
wanted  to  come ;  but  I  wasn't  that  sure  of  the 
freeze." 

"  And  you  carried  the  baby." 

"  Phely  not  a  baby.     I  a  girl." 

"  Oh,  she's  no  great  heft  to  her."  And  he  turned 
his  blind  eyes  towards  the  mite  with  a  look  of 
affection.  "  I  want  to  make  a  swop,  Madam  Pres- 
ton. I  want  to  take  Paul  for  two  days.  I  am 
goin'  over  to  our  camp, — not  Rollins's ;  ourn, — and 
we  might  find  a  deer  handy  on  the  way." 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  never  killed  a  deer,"  said  Paul. 

"Take  Ophelia  and  go  into  the  kitchen,  and 
close  the  door,"  said  Bessy. 

"  But,  mother " 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you." 

He  rose,  took  Ophelia's  hand,  and  went  out. 

"Philetus,"  she  said,  "I  am  afraid." 

"  Of  what,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Of  you.  You  drink  nowadays.  You  have 
that  man  Yickers  about  your  house.  I  used  to  be 
able  to  trust  you." 

"You  kin.  I  'ain't  drunk  none  in  a  week,  not 
nigh  a'most  on  to  nine  days.  Myry  she's  been 
makin'  a  row." 

"  I  should  have  made  a  worse  one  lon^  a^o." 

"  You  ain't  that  kind,  ma'am.  Not  that  Myry 
ain't  right.     I  admits  that." 

"  Then  why  do  you  drink  ?" 


FAR  IN   THE  FOREST.  139 

"  I  git  lonesome  in  the  woods,  and  Consider  he's 
that  deef,  and  Ance " 

"  Well,  that  will  do.  I  suppose  no  man  knows 
why  he  ruins  his  home  and  makes  his  wife  hate 
him." 

"  I  won't  drink  none,  I  promise, — not  a  drop. 
Nary  a  drop.  And  we  won't  stop  only  fur  a  night 
in  Rollins's  camp.  And  Ance — I've  let  him  go. 
He  ain't  workin'  for  us  none  now." 

"  Indeed  ?" 

"  Have  you  heerd  from  Mr.  Ryverus  ?" 

"No." 

"  I  got  a  letter  last  week.  Bin  a  heap  of  time 
comin'.  Barstow  fetched  it  over.  Shouldn't  won- 
der ef  Ryverus  was  to  turn  up  here  'fore  long. 
The  letter  didn't  name  no  time  of  comin'."  It 
had  caused  Philetus  to  take  the  prudent  step  of 
advising  his  boon  companion  to  find  work  else- 
where. 

"  Well,  Paul  may  go;  and  I  shall  be  charmed  to 
keep  Ophelia.     How  amusing  she  is  !" 

"  Yes ;  she's  as  good  as  a  baby  circus.  Might  I 
call  Paul  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

In  an  hour  or  two  they  set  off.  Phil's  affections 
were  curiously  strong.  As  to  Ance,  his  regard 
was  due  at  first  to  his  having  saved  him  during  the 
sudden  break-up  of  a  jam,  years  before,  and  he 
felt  it  now  disloyal  to  break  with  him,  as  in  his 
wiser  moments  he  was  inclined  to  do.  But  for 
Paul  he  had  a  distinct  admiration,  and  found  in 
him  a  ready  listener, — a  thing  he  liked  well  and 


140  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

rarely  found.  They  strode  along  swiftly,  with  the 
curious  swinging,  shuffling  gait  the  snow-shoes 
exact,  and  soon  were  deep  in  the  woods. 

"  Shall  we  have  to  camp  at  Rollins's  ?"  said  Paul. 

"  Yes,  ef  he  'ain't  moved.  If  he  has,  we'll  make 
a  wickey  up  and  bide  out.  Rollins  he's  had  a  row 
'bout  wages.  He's  just  as  close-fisted  as  a  fern  in 
May.  Never  noticed  them  May  ferns  ?  Then  you 
look  next  spring." 

"  Isn't  there  coal  about  this  country,  Phil  ?" 

"  Lots !  That's  what  fetched  us  here  fust. 
There's  coal  on  that  Pearson  tract,  and  that  air 
man  Ryverus  knowed  it.  As  for  me,  it  won't  do 
no  good  in  this  world.  And  when  it  comes  to 
another  I  hopes  to  git  where  no  coal  ain't  wanted." 

"  And  you  will  see  in  that  world,"  said  Paul, 
gravely. 

"And  Consider,  he'll  hear.  That'll  be  cur'us. 
Consider  '11  hear.  Talkin'  of  seein',  air  we  in  the 
ox-track  ?     I  oughter  of  fetched  Consider." 

"  Yes.  There  are  the  marks  of  the  hubs  on  the 
bark ;  but  it's  well  snowed  up.  I'll  tell  you  if  we 
get  off  it." 

"  What's  that  ?"     He  paused. 

"  I  heard  nothing." 

"  I  heerd  something.  Boys  'ain't  no  ears.  Look 
about  you  to  left,  on  the  ground." 

"  By  George,  it's  a  bear !     Here's  the  tracks." 

"  Lemme  see."  And,  lying  down,  Philetus  re- 
moved his  mittens  and  carefully  studied  the  foot- 
marks with  his  fingers.  At  last,  looking  up,  he 
said,  "  They're  fresh  sence  the  rain.     I  can  smell 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  141 

him.  He  ain't  far.  What's  he  doin'  around  this 
time  of  year  ?  Guess  the  warm  day's  sot  his  blood 
a-goin'.  Let's  foller.  Kin  you  see  the  trail  right 
well  ?" 

"  Yes."  And  they  went  on.  Presently  Paul 
stopped.  "I  see  him.  He's  behind  a  rock.  I 
can  see  his  ears.     We've  got  the  wind  right." 

"  Now  look  here,  Paul,"  whispered  Philetus. 
"  Slip  round  to  right.  Git  near  a  tree,  mind  that, 
— a  smallish  one.  Step  aside  when  you  fires,  to 
clear  the  smoke,  and  load  at  once.  And  don't  git 
buck-fever,  nuther.     It's  business.    I'll  wait  here." 

The  boy,  tremulous  with  joy,  moved  cautiously, 
stooped,  rested  an  elbow  on  one  knee,  and  fired. 
Then  he  leaped  to  one  side,  loaded,  and  looked. 
He  heard  a  growl,  and  saw  the  bear,  which  was 
hit  in  the  shoulder,  advancing  only  too  quickly. 
The  guide  heard  him.  "Up  a  tree!"  he  cried. 
"Quick!  Dern  it,  you've  wounded  him."  The 
boy  was  not  minded  to  fly  just  yet.  As  the  bear 
rose  over  a  log  not  twelve  yards  away,  Paul  fired 
again,  and  then  waited.  "  He's  dead,"  he  said, 
and,  reloading,  went  forward  with  caution.  "  All 
right,"  he  added.    "  Clean  shot  through  the  mouth." 

Philetus  came  up.  "Gosh,  but  he's  big!"  he 
said.  "  Here,  cut  off  his  tail,  or  they  won't  be- 
lieve down  at  Rollins's.  Don't  think  I'll  go  bearin' 
ag'in  with  you :  you're  too  resky.  We'll  git  his 
back  and  hide  to-morrow.  Come  along  now.  It's 
gittin'  on." 

With  many  a  lingering  look  of  pride,  the  young 
hunter  moved  away,  the  tail  in  his  belt. 


142  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  Now  keep  a-lookin'  sharp.  Think  I  smell  fried 
bacon  now ;  but  it's  a  matter  of  three  miles.  Eyes 
ain't  no  account  ag'in'  smell,  and  smells  stick  to 
the  ground,  and  that's  why  beasts  is  on  all-fours. 
A  man's  kind  of  canted  up  on  his  hind  legs,  built 
for  to  keep  sarchin'  with  his  eyes.  My  smeller's 
a-gittin'  better  every  year.  I  kin  pretty  nigh  see 
things  with  my  nose." 

"I  should  think,  Phil,"  said  Paul,  "you  would 
be  wanting  to  go  around  on  all-fours  pretty  soon." 

"  And  don't  I,  when  I'm  givin'  my  smell  its 
rights  ?  Didn't  I  git  down  to  smell  that  bar  ? 
Consider  'lows  I  can't  really  smell  a  bar."  Then 
the  old  fellow  paused,  and  slowly  added,  as  if  to 
himself,  but  quite  aloud,  "  'Tain't  all  clear  gain. 
I'm  gittin'  nigh  on  to  the  beasts  some  Ways." 
The  boy  looked  around  at  him,  but  was  tactful 
enough  to  make  no  comment. 

"  Oughter  be  black  oaks  hereabouts,"  he  went 
on,  touching  the  trees  to  left  and  right,  and  in- 
stantly naming  them  as  he  did  so.  "  Know  'em  by 
their  hides,  Paul.  Some  I  likes,  some  I  don't. 
Poplars  I  hates."  And,  dropping  now  and  then 
his  odd  bits  of  woodcraft,  they  sped  on  over  the 
creaking,  crackling,  ice-clad  drifts,  until  the  dusky 
woods  grew  strange  in  the  moonlight.  At  last 
they  missed  the  ox-road,  and,  after  careful  search 
and  some  use  of  Paul's  compass,  found  it  again. 

And  now  the  moon  was  well  up.  Vast  shadows 
of  the  pine  and  spruce  lay  black  on  the  clean, 
shining  snow.  A  windless  night,  cold  and  dry. 
Now  and  then  a  sharp  clatter  of  ice  falling  from  a 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  143 

branch  was  heard,  or  the  sharp  crack  of  a  branch 
overweighted  and  broken.  Once  or  twice  a  faint 
breeze  stirred  the  stiffened  leafage  of  the  ever- 
greens, and  then  all  the  still  forest  awoke  with 
innumerable  sounds  of  tinkling  and  complex  noises, 
like  the  dull  roar  of  surges  crushing  on  a  distant 
beach.  All  the  notes  so  heard  had  a  marvellous 
distinctness  in  the  dry,  clear  air,  where  at  times 
the  noiselessness  was  absolute.  Once  they  stayed 
to  tighten  the  snow-shoe  straps  and  to  clear  them 
of  twigs,  and  stood  then  a  moment  awed  by  the 
unearthly  silence  of  the  moonlight  spaces.  Sud- 
denly there  were  quick  crunching  sounds  to  left, 
as  the  sharp  feet  of  a  superb  doe  broke  through  the 
surface  at  each  bound.  She  came  from  behind  a 
mass  of  rocks,  and  plunged  with  labor  and  wearily 
through  the  yielding  snow-crust, — an  easy  prey, 
and  vast  to  the  eye,  in  the  dimly-lit  woods,  against 
the  white  drifts  beyond.  Paul  raised  his  rifle, — 
when,  to  his  surprise,  Philetus  said,  abruptly, — 

"Don't  ye  do  it,  Paul.  She's  a  doe.  I  don't 
hear  no  horns  rustle." 

"Oh,  confound  it!"  said  the  boy.  "What  a 
shot!  What  made  you  stop  me?  I've  lost  her. 
Let's  follow." 

"  Thought  I  heerd  no  horns  ao*'iu'  the  branches," 
returned  Philetus.  "It  air  too  like  killin'  things 
in  a  church  on  a  Sabbath.  Seems  most  like  God's 
Sabbath  in  this  here  wood.  Don't  you  mind. 
Deers  is  plenty." 

"  But  I  never  shot  a  deer,"  cried  Paul. 

"  Well,  you  kind  of  give  me  that  'ere  doe,  Paul. 

10 


144  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

I  were  a-thinkin'  of  Myry  jus'  then.  Queer,  weren't 
it?  I  were  a-thinkin'  ef  ever  I  come  home  and 
found  Myry  gone — or  dead,  like  that  'ere  pretty 
doe  might  'a'  ben." 

The  excess  of  sentiment  astonished  the  boy  less 
than  it  would  have  done  in  any  other  of  the  rough 
men  about  him.  He  was  accustomed  to  the  sin- 
gular moods  of  his  companion,  who  at  times  was 
thought  by  his  comrades  to  be,  as  they  said,  a  bit 
strange.  "  You  will  have  to  get  me  another  shot, 
Philetus.     I  can  wait." 

"  All  right.  You're  a  boy  as  kin  understand  a 
man.  You  ain't  so  sot  up  as  Ryverus.  He  'ain't  no 
comprehension  of  any  man's  ways  'cept  his  own. 
And  he  don't  talk  out,  nuther.  Seems  as  ef  he  was 
alius  a-hidin'  things,  and,  soon's  ever  he's  made  up 
his  mind,  speaks  out  like  he  was  a  capting.  He'll 
git  in  trouble,  sure,  some  day." 

Philetus  had  always  a  certain  sense  of  disturb- 
ance when  the  handsome  and  decisive  German 
came  into  his  thoughts,  and  to  argue  with  him  on 
this  matter  was  only  to  make  things  worse,  as 
Paul  very  clearly  knew. 

"  Well,  he's  gone,  Phil,  and  he  isn't  very  likely 
to  come  back  soon." 

"  Oh,  but  he  is." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that,  Phil  ?" 

"He's  bin  a-writin'  to  me." 

"  Indeed  ?     I  wish  he  would  come." 

"  And  I  don't.     He  ain't  wanted  none." 

Paul  thought  it  singular,  and  walked  on,  wonder- 
ing why  the  German,  so  pleasant  to  him,  should 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  J  45 

be  so  little  liked  by  others ;  for  Philetus  was  by 
no  means  alone  in  his  opinion.  But  the  boy  held 
his  peace,  and  Philetus  went  on : 

"  Don't  you  go  to  tell  them  men  in  camp  'bout 
that  'ere  doe.  It  ain't  no  man's  business  but  yourn 
and  mine;  and  you  don't  mind  a-losin'  it.  One 
man  he's  got  one  way  of  thinkin',  and  another  he's 
got  another  way  of  thinkin',  and  it  don't  do  no 
good  to  mix  'em  up.  As  fur  boys,  they  ain't  called 
on  to  think.  Their  souls  ain't  growed  enough. 
Kin  you  smell  that  bacon  yit  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  said  Paul ;  "  and  very  good  it 
smells." 

"  Halloo  !  there's  camp,  sure  'nough.  Don't  you 
go  to  lettin'  none  of  them  men  persuade  you  to 
take  no  whiskey.     You  won't  see  me  takin'  none." 

"  I  take  whiskey !"  said  Paul.  "  Not  I."  And 
he  laughed  as  they  came  up  to  the  huge  log  house 
full  of  chinks,  through  which  the  red  light  shot  in 
widening  bars  out  on  to  the  snow  and  tree-trunks. 


CHAPTER    XL 

They  opened  the  door  and  entered.  In  the  cen- 
tre a  vast  wood  fire  sought  exit  for  so  much  of  its 
smoke  as  got  out  at  all  through  an  opening  in  the 
roof  overhead.  The  atmosphere  was  stifling.  On 
rough  wooden  bunks  around  the  walls  a  score  of 
men  lay  smoking  in  lazy  attitudes.  Around  the 
fire  half  as  many  more  were  gathered,  lying  on  the 
ground  or  seated  on  rude  benches.  Rollins  was 
there,  and  Ance  Yickers,  and  many  of  the  worst 
of  the  men  more  or  less  known  to  Paul.  A  noisy 
welcome  greeted  them  as  they  entered  and  began 
to  unlace  their  moccasins  and  kick  off  their  snow- 
shoes. 

"  Any  news  ?"  said  Rollins. 

"  None  but  Paul's  shot  a  bear, — a  buster, — clean 
through  the  mouth,  and  awful  nigh,  too." 

"  What !  that  boy  ?"  said  Ance.  "  Don't  believe 
it." 

"  I  didn't  steal  his  tail,"  said  Paul,  displaying  the 
trophy. 

"  Confound  it  if  he  hasn't !"  said  Rollins.  Then 
the1  adventure  was  discussed,  and  bear-stories  be- 
came for  an  hour  the  chief  talk,  until  Rollins  rose 
and  said,  "  Time  for  roostin',"  and  one  by  one  the 
motley  crew  took  to  their  nests. 

"Let's  get  out  of  this,  Phil,"  said  the  lad,  with 
disgust. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  147 

"  I'm  with  you.  We'll  camp.  Ther's  a  lean-to 
just  outside."  And  in  this,  with  a  roaring  fire  at 
their  feet,  they  found  a  more  cleanly  and  more 
wholesome  lodging,  where,  rolled  in  their  blankets, 
they  slept  soundly. 

The  late  dawn  of  winter  made  the  camp  slow  in 
rising,  and,  moreover,  a  warm  rain  falling  towards 
mornins:  rendered  the  drifts  treacherous  and  dim- 
cult.  Hence,  as  Rollins  and  the  camp-boss  gave 
no  sign  of  urgency,  every  one  was  late.  The 
softening  ice-crust  and  the  increasing  rain  decided 
Philetus  not  to  risk  immediate  travel.  The  boy 
spoke  at  once  of  the  pledge  Phil  had  given  Mrs. 
Preston  not  to  remain  in  Rolling's  camp  except  for 
one  night;  but  Philetus  either  thought  or  affected 
to  think  that  it  was  unsafe  to  travel,  and,  as  Rol- 
lins confirmed  his  judgment,  Paul  had  nothing  bet- 
ter to  do  than  to  wait.  Once  or  twice  he  was 
tempted  to  return  home  and  so  fulfil  the  pledge  by 
which  in  a  way  he  felt  that  he  also  was  bound. 
But  to  desert  Philetus,  blind,  when  his  friend  Con- 
sider was  absent,  seemed  to  the  boy  unfair,  since, 
as  he  knew,  the  blind  man  at  this  season  was  less 
able  to  find  his  way  than  when  the  snows  were 
gone.  Moreover,  without  Phil's  help  that  bear- 
skin would  be  hardly  attainable,  and  the  frozen 
carcass  would  be  hard  to  skin  even  with  the  wood- 
man's aid.  Then,  too,  he  was  stiff  from  the  walk 
of  the  day  before ;  and  so,  as  is  usual  in  human 
affairs,  a  group  of  motives  influenced  his  decision. 

A  few  men  were  sent  out  from  the  camp  to  such 
work  as  was  near.      Oxen  were  fed,  and  the  bob- 


148  FAR   IN   THE  FOREST. 

sleds  overhauled.  Some  sharpened  axes  on  the 
grindstone,  which  one  of  them  turned.  A  few  lit 
fires,  and,  regardless  of  the  rain,  stretched  under 
a  lean-to  or  a  blanket  on  sticks,  played  with  dirty 
packs  of  cards.  Paul  wandered  from  group  to  group 
of  laughing  and  cursing  men  whose  wages  were 
accumulating  in  the  hands  of  the  few  skilful  gam- 
blers always  to  be  met  with  in  every  large  wood- 
gang.  Here  and  there  a  man  or  two  slipped  into 
the  woods  to  drink  unwatched,  for  liquor  was  for- 
bidden in  the  day,  and,  indeed,  as  a  rule,  not  too 
much  was  taken  at  any  time  in  the  better  camps. 

The  boy  found  it  unpleasant.  The  coarse  tales 
disgusted  a  nature  trained  to  better  things;  the 
wild  oaths,  pausing  at  no  name,  however  sacred, 
the  dirt,  the  disorder,  the  bones  and  scraps  of  rag 
or  paper,  the  close  ill-smelling  cabin,  all  combined  to 
make  him  eager  to  get  away ;  and  Philetus,  whose 
talk  he  liked,  was  missing.  Towards  noon,  Paul 
took  his  rifle  and  strayed  away  into  the  woods,  but, 
after  a  long  round  which  took  yesterday's  tire  out 
of  his  legs  and  to-day's  disgust  out  of  his  mind, 
came  back  at  dusk  in  a  better  humor,  though  with- 
out game  of  any  kind.  The  rain  was  over,  the  air 
again  cooler,  and  a  vast  fire  was  blazing  in  the  open 
a  little  way  from  the  cabin.  Around  it  were  lying 
on  blankets  a  dozen  or  so  of  men,  smoking,  talking, 
and  roughly  chafiing  one  another.  It  was  dark 
beyond  the  irregular  flaring  cone  of  flame  which 
lit  up  with  rosy  flashes  the  white  snow  at  a  distance, 
and  a  noble  blaze  rose  high  overhead  from  the  great 
trunks  lavishly  cast  upon  the  fire.     To  Paul's  sur- 


FAR   IN  THE  FOREST.  149 

prise,  Philetus  was  standing  facing  him  beyond  the 
fire,  too  plainly  a  little  under  the  influence  of  whis- 
key. Like  most  blind  men,  he  usually  carried  his 
head  far  back,  as  if  for  security,  but  when  he  had 
been  taking  stimulus  he  lost  this  attitude  and  re- 
sumed the  ordinary  position  of  those  who  see.  Paul 
had  heard  Riverius  remark  the  peculiarity.  At  the 
blind  man's  feet  lay  Ance  Yickers.  Troubled  at 
what  he  saw,  Paul  moved  unnoticed  arouud  the 
outside  of  the  ring,  about  the  fire,  catching  with 
interest  as  he  went  the  name  of  Riverius  repeated 
with  an  unpleasant  variety  of  angry  or  mocking 
comments.  Presently  the  boy  understood  that  the 
men  were  teasing  Philetus. 

"  Ther'  ain't  no  man  kin  boss  Philetus  Rich- 
mond," said  the  blind  man. 

"  You're  liquor  pert,"  said  one  man. 

"  Jus'  wait  till  he  hears  you've  been  a-takin'  on 
Ance  Yickers  to  work  at  that  mill,"  said  Rollins's 
foreman,  rolling  his  tobacco  in  his  palms  prepara- 
tory to  a  smoke.     "  You  wait  and  see." 

"  Why,  you're  a-talkin'  as  if  Phil  was  skeered," 
said  Ance,  rising,  his  red  hair  and  face  glaring  in 
the  firelight.  "  Don't  you  fellers  go  to  thinkin'  as 
a  man  that  kin  handle  any  one  of  you  is  skeered  at 
a  furriner  like  him.     I  bet  on  Phil." 

"  Myry  Richmond  'ill  be  glad  to  see  him,"  cried 
a  coarse  young  fellow  nearer  to  Paul. 

"  Shut  up  !"  said  the  blind  man,  a  look  of  savage 
pain  in  his  rugged  face.  "  Fer  derned  little,  I'd 
pitch  you  in  the  fire,  Jo  Blake." 

"  Ketch  me  first,"  answered  the  woodman. 


150  FAR   IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  I  kin  ketch  you,  and  hold  you  too,"  said  Alice. 
"  You  'ain't  no  call  to  talk  that  'ere  way  to  a  blinded 
man,  Jo  Blake." 

"  I  didn't  go  to  say  nuthin'.  It  ain't  no  business 
of  mine." 

"  That's  so,"  said  another.  "  Here  comes  the 
gentleman.     Git  up  and  bow,  boys." 

A  silence,  however,  fell  on  the  group  as  the  Ger- 
man advanced  from  the  cabin  to  the  fire.  He  had 
been  forced  to  take  refuge  in  Eollins's  camp  for  a 
night  much  against  his  will,  and  for  an  hour  or  two 
had  been  changing  his  outer  dress  and  foot-gear, 
and  now,  smiling  and  comfortable,  approached  the 
camp-fire.  Then,  seeing  Paul,  he  made  a  circuit, 
and,  coming  to  his  side,  after  a  hearty  greeting, 
drew  him  away  a  little  from  the  men. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !"  said  the  boy. 
"  Mother  was  saying  yesterday  that  you  never 
would  come  till  summer.     Only  yesterday  she  said 

she  missed  you  so  much,  and "    Paul  suddenly 

had  a  dim  sense  such  as  comes  to  a  well-bred  lad 
that  the  talk  had  been  for  himself  alone,  and  so 
paused  of  a  sudden  in  his  revelations. 

"  Any  one  might  be  proud  to  know  that  a  woman 
like  your  mother  thinks  kindly  of  him.  You  were 
about  to  say " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Paul,  as  they  stepped  back 
from  the  fire. 

"  But  it  was  something,"  cried  Riverius,  laugh- 
ing, and  laying  a  hand  on  the  lad's  shoulder. 

"It  wasn't  anything,  sir,  only  I  just  remembered 
mother  doesn't  like  me  to  repeat  things  she  says. 


FAR   IN   THE   FOREST.  151 

Really,  it  wasn't  anything."  And  he  wondered  at 
the  German's  unusual  curiosity.  As  to  the  latter, 
Time,  the  pleasant  artist,  had  been  at  his  work  of 
sketching  a  hundred  charming  pictures  of  Bessy 
Preston.  At  home,  in  courts,  and  while  travelling, 
these  came  and  went  with  backgrounds  of  the  past 
and  more  delightful  backgrounds  of  a  future  not 
of  the  woods.  Difficulties  which  Riverius  knew  to 
be  weak  and  imaginary,  prejudices  he  only  scorned, 
even  some  words  of  a  younger  brother,  had  been 
in  and  out  of  his  mind,  and  left  him  always  a  little 
ashamed  and  more  annoyed,  but  ever  with  a  pre- 
dictive sense  that  in  the  end  another  and  nobler 
group  of  motives  would  prevail.  What  the  boy 
had  not  said,  his  growing  eagerness  misappre- 
hended. The  heart  is  a  deceitful  courtier,  and 
says  only  pleasant  things  to  the  sovereign  brain. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Paul,"  he  returned,  referring 
to  the  boy's  reticence  as  to  his  mother's  words,  "  I 
am  back  for  a  few  days  only,  but  I  shall  be  here  more 
or  less.  I  landed  last  week.  The  voyage  was  long 
and  stormy.    "What  brought  you  to  this  dog-hole  ?" 

Paul  explained. 

"  I  see,"  said  Riverius,  glancing  at  Philetus.  "  I 
overheard  enough.  What  brutes  drink  can  make 
of  men  !" 

"  When  did  you  get  here,  sir  ?"  said  Paul. 

"  An  hour  ago.  I  did  not  want  to  stop,  but  I 
had  to  break  the  journey.  I  shall  be  off  at  day- 
break. I  am  cold.  Let  us  °:et  a  little  of  our  share 
of  the  fire."  And,  so  saying,  he  drew  near  again  to 
the  blazing  logs.     One  or  two  of  the  men  sullenly 


152  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

made  place  for  them,  and,  casting  themselves  or. 
Paul's  doubled  blanket,  they  chatted  quietly  in  an 
undertone.  In  a  few  moments  Riverius  looked  up, 
rose  to  his  feet,  and,  walking  part-way  around  the 
lire,  paused  beside  Philetus,  to  whom  since  Paul's 
return  he  had  said  nothing.  At  once  expectant 
silence  fell  on  the  group. 

Riverius  touched  the  blind  man  on  the  arm. 
"You  were  talking  about  me,  Richmond.  Of 
course  I  overheard  you."  He  felt  that  it  was 
meant  he  should  hear.  "  Come  into  the  cabin 
with  me  a  few  moments." 

"  Guess  we'll  talk  right  here,"  exclaimed  Phil, 
doggedly.     "  I  'ain't  no  reason  to  hide  myself." 

"  I  did  not  ask  that.  You  were  speaking  of  what 
concerns  only  you  and  me.     Come,  Phil." 

"  No,  I  ain't  a-comin'." 

"  Family  consarns,"  said  Ance,  who  also  had 
been  drinking  rather  freely. 

Riverius  did  not  so  much  as  turn  his  head. 
"  Come,  Phil,"  he  repeated,  quite  gently. 

"  I'll  talk  to-morrer,"  said  Phil.  "  Have  a  drink, 
Ry  verus  ?" 

The  German  flushed,  and  was  turning  away, 
when  Ance  Vickers  remarked,  "  I'll  talk  to  you, 
ef  you  want  a  little  conversation.  I  was  a-tellin' 
Phil  you'd  fix  him  for  takin'  me  on  to  work.  He 
ain't  afeerd  to  say,  and  I  ain't,  nuther.  That's 
what  we  was  a-sayin',  ef  you  want  to  know." 

"  Is  that  true  ?"  asked  Riverius,  turning  to  Philetus. 

"  Yes,  that's  true.  I  ain't  the  man  to  shirk.  Don't 
you  be  a-goin'  to  say  that." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  153 

"  I  said  no  such  thing.  Come  to  me  to-morrow, 
and  we  will  have  a  settlement.  Of  course  this 
ends  our  relation.  I  would  have  said  it  privately, 
but  I  have  been  forced  to  speak." 

"  All  right,"  answered  Philetus. 

There  were  loud  and  forcible  expressions  of  disap- 
probation among  the  nearer  men  who  heard  the  talk. 

"  I  call  it  pretty  cussed  mean,"  cried  Ance, — 
"  and  a  blind  man,  too." 

"  It  is  none  of  your  business,  my  man,"  said  Ri- 
verius,  shortly. 

"  '  Your  man' !  I'm  my  own  man.  You'd  best  git 
out  of  this  camp.  We  don't  want  no  furriners  here." 

Riverius  moved  aside,  and  then,  as  Ance  stepped 
again  before  him,  said,  calmly,  "  Allow  me  to  pass." 

"  Well,  you  kin."     But  he  did  not  move. 

"  Then,  if  you  will,"  said  Riverius,  and  lightly, 
with  seemingly  but  little  effort,  struck  out  from  the 
shoulder,  and  Ance  rolled  over  on  the  ground.  In- 
stantly there  was  confusion ;  but,  as  Ance  rose 
furious  and  a  little  dazed,  Rollins  interposed  and 
in  a  loud  voice  quieted  the  gathering  group.  "  Of 
course  this  has  got  to  be  fought  out,"  he  said ;  "  but 
no  knives.     Mind  that.     ISTo  knives."' 

"  Chut !"  said  Riverius.  "  I  never  carried  a  knife 
in  my  life." 

"  And  I  don't  need  none  for  this  here  matter," 
cried  Ance,  savagely.  "  You  wait  a  minute."  So 
saying,  he  walked  to  the  cabin  and  entered.  He 
was  enough  sobered  to  know  that  the  man  who 
struck  such  a  blow  was  more  formidable  than  he 
had  believed,  and  now  he  meant  once  for  all  to 


154  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

settle  this  business.  One  or  two  men  followed  him. 
He  asked  one  to  pour  a  bucket  of  water  over  his 
head,  then  rubbed  himself  dry,  kicked  off  his  boots, 
tightened  his  belt,  and  threw  aside  his  jacket  and 
waistcoat.  As  he  turned  to  go  out,  Paul  was  at 
his  side,  pale  and  alarmed,  but  resolute  as  he  faced 
Ance.  He  well  knew  the  strength  and  had  wit- 
nessed the  anger  of  the  man.     He  was  afraid. 

"Well?"  said  Ance. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  fight  Mr.  Riverius  ?"  said 
the  boy,  faintly. 

"Ain't  I,  just?  You  wait  and  see.  Don't  you 
bet  on  him  none." 

"  Ance,  Ance  Vickers,  if  you  won't  fight  him, — 
T — I — you  may  lick  me  as  hard  as  ever  you  like." 

Ance  looked  down  on  the  small  man  with  sur- 
prise, and  not  without  the  admiration  which  cour- 
age always  excited  in  his  heart.  "  You're  a  brave 
little  cuss.  I'll  count  you  and  me's  even  when  I'm 
done  with  Ryverus." 

"But  you  won't.  Please,  Ance.  He  isn't  as 
strong  as  you.  It's  mean,"  he  added,  seeing  the 
relentless  face.     Ance  smiled. 

"  I  won't  kill  him.  Don't  you  be  afeerd  of  that. 
He  won't  take  much  hurtin'." 

Then  the  boy's  soul  rose  for  his  friend  at  the 
note  of  scorn  in  Ance's  voice.  "  Kill  him !"  he 
cried,  proudly.     "  You  haven't  licked  him  yet." 

"Derned  ef  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  a  young  un 
like  you,"  said  Ance,  laughing.  "  Git  out.  This 
air  men's  work."  And  he  turned  and  went  out, 
followed  by  the  boy,  who,  fearful  and  troubled,  but 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  155 

still  curious,  climbed  on  to  a  tall  stump  and  with 
beating  heart  stood  to  watch  the  result. 

The  ring  opened,  and  Ance  entered.  As  he  came 
forward,  Riverius  threw  oft*  his  coat  and  waistcoat, 
rolled  his  shirt-sleeves  tranquilly  up  a  pair  of  white, 
well-modelled  arms,  and,  turning,  faced  his  foe. 
There  were  quick  words  and  phrases  all  around 
them,  and  the  German  knew  that  he  was  surrounded 
by  enemies.  Looking  about  him,  he  caught  sight 
of  Paul's  serious  face,  and,  laughing  lightly,  kissed 
his  hand  to  the  boy,  understanding  his  anxiety. 

"Back,  there !"  said  Rollins.    "  Give  them  room." 

"  He'll  guess  a  bar's  got  him,"  said  one.  "  He'll 
need  nussin',"  said  another. 

Vickers  advanced  with  care,  meaning  to  make  it 
a  wrestling-bout.  Then  he  ran  in.  Riverius  caught 
him  with  left  and  right,  two  savage  blows.  At  this 
Ance,  surprised  and  furious,  lost  his  head  and  made 
a  less  skilful  rush.  Riverius  leaped  aside  and  struck 
Ance  below  the  ear.  Poor  Ance  went  down  like  a 
bullock  in  the  shambles,  and  for  a  moment  did  not 
rise.  Riverius  fell  back  a  pace  and  smiled  grimly, 
remembering  his  days  at  Eton  and  their  rough 
training.  A  murmur  of  amazed  exclamations  arose 
as  Ance  got  up  slowly  and  passed  a  hand  across  his 
face.  He  was  bewildered  and  giddy,  but  again 
turned,  facing  his  man.  Some  one  cried  out,  "  Take 
time,  Ance.     Give  him  a  drink." 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  said  Riverius.  "  Have  you 
had  enough?  Come,  now,"  he  added,  gravely:  "you 
haven't  got  the  trick  of  it.     Let's  shake  hands." 

Ance  stood  still,  looking  about  him  at  the  sur- 


156  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

prise  and  amusement  in  the  men's  faces.  "  Derned 
ef  Anee  ain't  licked,"  said  one.  "  No,  he  ain't," 
cried  another.  Suddenly  Ance  ran  forward, 
dropped  on  his  knee,  caught  the  German  by  the 
legs,  and  threw  him  forward.  "  It's  Alice's  old 
fall."     "By  George!" 

Had  Riverius  lit  on  his  head,  the  fight  would 
have  had  a  serious  ending;  but  Ance  was  out  of 
condition,  and  Riverius,  falling  on  his  side,  was  in- 
stantly on  his  feet  with  cat-like  agility.  As  Ance 
turned  on  him  again,  he  struck  him  furiously,  and, 
following  hot  with  wrath,  left  him  no  chance  to  re- 
cover until,  with  the  blood  flying  from  his  face,  he 
was  driven  back  helpless  and  dropped  beaten  among 
his  friends.  Riverius  retreated  and  waited  amidst 
a  storm  of  admiring  or  derisive  cries.  Presently 
Ance  came  forward,  blinded  and  bruised. 

"  Got  enough  ?"  said  Riverius,  sternly.  "  Con- 
found it,  I  don't  want  to  kill  you.  Here;  shake 
hands." 

"  I've  got  enough,"  said  Ance.  "  I've  got  enough 
for  this  time.  And  as  fur  shakin'  hands,  ef  I'd 
licked  you  I'd  'a'  shook  hands  quick  enough.  I 
'ain't  and  I  won't.     You'll  keep,  I  guess." 

One  of  the  men  laughed.  Riverius  turned.  "  It's 
easy  to  laugh,"  he  said.  "  If  any  of  you  think  you 
are  better  men  than  Ance  Vickers, — well,  I'm  not 
very  tired."  No  one  answered.  Ance,  amazed, 
looked  up  through  his  swollen  eyes. 

"  You're  the  best  of  the  lot,  Mr.  Ryverus.  I'd 
like  you  ef  I  could.  I  jus'  can't."  And  he  moved 
away  through  the  crowd. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  157 

Riverius  turned  to  Rollins.  "  I  see,"  he  said, 
"that  I  am  not  over-welcome  here,  and  I  assure 
you  I  did  not  stop  at  your  camp  because  I  wanted 
to. — Come,  Paul,  let's  get  out  of  this." 

Rollins  said,  "  Well,  you  had  fair  play.  You 
can't  gainsay  that." 

"  No  ;  I  am  obliged  to  you. — Come,  Paul." 

As  he  passed  Philetus,  the  blind  man  said,  "  Mr. 
Ryverus." 

"  Well  ?" 

"You  ain't  done  me  justice,  and  you  wouldn't 
stay  none  to  listen." 

"  And  I  do  not  mean  to  now.  You  are  a  lot  of 
curs. — Hurry,  Paul." 

An  angry  murmur  arose,  but  Philetus  said  no 
word  in  reply,  and  soon  Riverius  and  the  boy  were 
away  through  the  woods. 

After  a  few  moments  of  silence  Paul  spoke :  "I 
was  afraid  for  you,  sir,  at  first." 

"  Oh,  he  hadn't  a  chance.  He  is  a  good  bit  of  a 
man,  too.  He  did  that  fall  well.  I  had  a  near  thing 
of  it.  Do  not  let  your  mother  know  of  it,  and  some 
day  you  must  learn  to  spar." 

A  half-mile  from  camp  the  pair  stopped,  built  a 
fire,  made  a  lean-to  of  bark  and  blanket,  and,  with 
their  feet  to  the  fire,  turned  in.  At  dawn  they  were 
up  and  off,  and  in  an  hour  found  the  bear,  of  whose 
defeat  the  boy  had  much  to  say.  The  carcass  was 
still  warm  within,  and,  talking  as  they  worked, 
Riverius  skilfully  skinned  it,  and  then,  loaded  with 
meat  and  the  fur,  they  went  on  again. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

When  Bessy,  coming  from  the  door-way,  saw  the 
two  familiar  figures,  she  stood  still  to  quiet  the 
violence  of  emotion  which  of  a  sudden  disturbed 
her.  Then  she  went  out,  meeting  her  friend  with 
both  hands  as  he  offered  his,  and  frankly  showing 
her  pleasure  with  such  tranquillity  as  she  could 
command.  They  took  quick  note  of  each  other 
as  they  stood  for  a  moment,  and  until  she  drew 
back  he  held  her  fast  and  looked  seriously  into  the 
eyes  which  he  had  not  forgotten.  She  met  smiling 
his  attentive  survey.  How  handsome  and  gracious 
she  was !  Her  size  and  pride  of  carriage  lent  some 
strange  emphasis  to  the  half-concealed  gladness  of 
her  simple  welcome. 

"  You  look  tired,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  I  am.  Since  I  left  you,  I  have  had  sor- 
row and  known  trouble."  He  did  not  say  what. 
"  How  well  Paul  looks  !  And  he  has  killed  a  bear. 
There  will  be  no  living  with  him  after  that." 

"  Indeed  !     So  I  see.     How  was  it,  Paul  ?" 

He  told  his  story,  while  at  times  she  stole  looks 
at  Riverius.  Then  the  latter  explained  that  he  had 
found  Philetus  drinking  and  had  brought  the  boy 
away  from  Rollins's  camp. 

For  a  few  days  Riverius  was  greatly  occupied 
in  the  woods,  so  that  she  saw  him  but  little.  He 
was  away  to  Olean,  or  down  to  Smethport,  or  in 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  159 

the  camp,  readjusting  his  affairs.  He  himself  felt 
that  he  was  restless.  She  learned  by  and  by,  to 
her  surprise,  that  he  had  a  new  head  to  his  wood- 
gangs.  When  at  home  he  was  apt  to  be  visited  by 
one  or  another  of  his  men  or  of  those  with  whom 
he  was  in  some  way  dealing,  and  it  soon  leaked 
out  that  for  the  first  time  Ance  had  met  his  match. 
Then  she  questioned  Paul,  who  was  now  forced  to 
speak,  and  so  at  last  she  heard  all  about  Philetus 
and  the  boy's  account  of  the  famous  battle.  That 
the  German  was  right  and  had  been  just  she  was 
sure,  but  she  began  to  feel  that  the  matter  had  sad 
aspects  for  Miriam.  At  length  she  determined  to 
take  advantage  of  a  clear,  cold  day,  and,  with  Paul 
for  guide,  set  off  on  snow-shoes  to  visit  Mrs.  Rich- 
mond. It  was  a  long  walk,  but  she  was  well  trained 
to  this  mode  of  progression,  and  surprised  herself 
by  her  skill. 

The  little  cabin  was  hot  and  close.  Miriam,  paler 
than  common,  but  still  in  fair  rosiness  of  over- 
bloom,  was  charmed  to  see  her.  With  her  quick 
woman  eyes  Bessy  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  custom- 
ary neatness  of  the  home  was  somewhat  wanting. 
"How  are  you,  Miriam?"  she  said.  "And  my 
little  maid, — how  is  she?  I  thought  I  certainly 
must  come  over  and  see  you.  Where  have  you 
been  ?"  Usually  Miriam  managed  to  visit  her 
from  time  to  time.  She  made  no  answer.  "  What 
is  wrong,  my  friend  ?"  said  Bessy.  "  What  is  the 
matter?" 

Poor  Miriam  burst  into  tears.  "  Everything's 
wrong, — everything!     Philetus  is  drinking.     Mr. 


1G0  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

Riverius  has  turned  him  off.  The  wood-gangs  are 
full.  Consider  he's  abed  and  can't  go  round  with 
him;  and — and  Ance  Yickers  comes  here.  He 
comes  when  Phil's  away.  And — oh,  that  man ! 
If  I  tell  Phil  he'd  kill  him.  One  day  he'd  kill 
him,  and  one  day  he'd  just  laugh  at  me.  I  wish  I 
was  dead."     And  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Well,  Miriam,  here  are  troubles  enough,  surely. 
By  the  way,  Paul  has  a  basket  of  things  for  you 
and  a  trifle  for  the  child, — just  a  pretty  frock.  I 
made  it  myself.  Come,  let  us  see  if  it  fits.  I  am 
here  for  the  clay.     We  have  time  enough." 

The  little  lady  was  pleased  with  the  gown,  and 
surveyed  herself  with  delight.  Then  she  went 
away  and  sat  down  and  smoothed  out  the  skirt 
and  showed  a  feminine  joy  in  the  novelty. 

"  How  pretty  she  is !"  said  Bessy.  "  How 
dainty !" 

"  And  what  will  become  of  her  ?" 

"Hush.  Come  into  the  kitchen.  There,  now, 
there  is  nothing  like  a  good  talk.  In  the  first 
place,  I  want  to  lend  you  some  money." 

"  I  can't— I  can't  take  it." 

"  Nonsense  !"  And  Bessy  stuffed  the  notes  into 
Miriam's  pocket.     "  And  now  about  Phil." 

"  Couldn't  you  ask  Mr.  Riverius  to  take  him  on 
again  ?  He's  tbat  down  now,  and  really  sometimes 
he  seems  so  strange  it  just  frightens  me.  He  says 
he  sees  visions." 

"  Visions  ?" 

"  Yes ;  it's  a  w^ay  he  has  sometimes ;  but  now — ■ 
oh,  I  don't  know." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  161 

"I  do  not  see  how  I  can  ask  Mr.  Eiverius  to 
take  him  back." 

"  Is  he  so  hard  ?" 

"  !N"o,  he  is  not,  but  he  is  angry,  and  reasonably 
so.     I  will  think  about  it.     I  hardly  see  my  way." 

At  this  moment  they  heard  little  Ophelia  cry 
out,  "  Oh,  father,  come  and  see  my  frock.  Come 
and  feel  it.    It's  so  pretty.     Me  just  like  a  lady." 

"Here  is  Mrs.  Preston,  Phil,"  said  Miriam,  as 
he  entered  the  kitchen. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Philetus,"  said  Bessy. 

"  Mornin',  ma'am,"  he  returned.  "  How's  all 
you?  How's  Paul?  Where's  Mr.  Ryverus?"  he 
added,  suddenly. 

"  He  has  gone  to  Smethport  for  three  days.  I 
am  sorry  you  and  he  have  fallen  out." 

"  Well,  I'm  not.  He's  a  hard  man.  He  don't 
make  no  'lowance  for  folks." 

"  Do  you  ?"  said  Bessy.     "  I  am  afraid  not." 

"  Well,  I'm  tired  a  lot.  No  eyes,  no  work,  and 
Consider  got  the  black-leg." 1 

"  Come  over  and  chop  for  me.  We  are  running 
short  of  wood." 

"  I'll  do  it,  and  thanks.  Air  Mr.  Ryverus  a 
friend  of  yourn,  Mrs.  Preston  ?"  He  spoke  ab- 
ruptly. 

"  Certainly,"  she  said,  in  surprise. 

"  Then  you  tell  him  to  git  away  from  these  here 
parts.  I  don't  mind  him  much,  but  there's  some 
as  don't  hanker  arter  him." 

1  A  form  of  scurvy  common  among  the  ill-fed  lumbermen. 


1(32  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  What  is  it  you  fear  ?  I  wish  you  would  speak 
frankly." 

"Well,  maybe  I  dreamed  he  was  in  trouble. 
Anyways,  he'd  best  go." 

"  It  is  hard  for  me  to  see  why  you  talk  in  this 
way,  Philetus.  It  puzzles  me.  Mr.  Riverius  has 
been  away  eighteen  months.  I  know  that  he  has 
dismissed  you ;  but  I  know,  and  you  know,  that  he 
had  good  cause  to  be  angry." 

"  It  ain't  that.  He's  stirred  up  things  sence  he 
come  back  so's  to  make  a  lot  of  trouble.  He  gives 
big  wages,  and  that  takes  the  best  men  out'r  other 
gangs.  And  then  it's  jus'  a  word  and  go.  Things  has 
got  to  go  'long  like  men  was  machines.  Him  and 
me  ain't  friends, — never  was,  and  never  will  be." 

"  But  you  took  his  wages  and  did  his  work." 

"  Might  be  so,  but  I  air  done  the  like  for  the 
devil  in  my  time, — more's  the  shame." 

"Philetus!" 

"  Anyways,  it's  on  my  mind  to  tell  you  right  out. 
There'll  be  trouble.  I  wish  he'd  'a'  stayed  away. 
He  ain't  nothin'  to  me,  and  ef  he  hadn't  bin  your 
friend  I  wouldn't  'a'  bothered  none  to  speak." 

"  I  will  certainly  tell  him,  Philetus ;  but  he  is  the 
kind  of  man  who  does  not  give  up  easily.  I  incline 
to  think  that  the  very  way  to  make  him  stay  as 
Ions:  as  he  can  is  to  tell  him  that  there  is  risk  in 
his  staying." 

"  I  kind  of  wonder  what  he  keeps  round  here 
for,  anyways.  I  heerd  he  was  meanin'  to  put  in 
another  set  of  saws  at  the  mill.  That'll  be  a  big 
business." 


FAR  IN   THE  FOREST.  163 

"  He  spoke  of  it  the  other  clay.  I  suppose  that 
may  help  to  detain  him ;  but  really,  Philetus,  it  is 
hardly  my  affair,  and  you  have  put  yourself  out  of 
it  by  your  own  action." 

"  The  man  he's  got  can't  run  it." 

Bessy  smiled.  "You  may  be  sure  it  will  be 
made  to  run  if  Mr.  Riverius  stays  a  year." 

"  A  year !  a  year !"  said  the  blind  man.  "  Lord  ! 
the  wickedness  kin  be  hatched  in  a  year !"  And 
he  went  out,  Bessy  looking  after  him  anxiously. 

Later  in  the  day  Miriam  said  to  her,  "  I  hope 
you  will  warn  Mr.  Riverius.  Somehow  they  are 
all  against  him ;  and  you  know  what  these  men 
are." 

"  I  know,"  said  Bessy,  shuddering. 

"  And  tell  him  on  no  account  to  come  here." 

"  He  is  not  likely  to  do  so." 

"  "Well,  it  seemed  to  me  I  must  tell  you.  Phil — 
well,  guess  I  won't  say  no  more  :  guess  I've  said 
all  I  ought  to."     And  she  added  nothing  further. 

Three  days  later,  Riverius  came  back,  and  in  the 
afternoon  sat  down  to  talk  to  her  while  Paul  was 
away  setting  traps. 

"  I  really  have  hardly  seen  you,"  he  said.  "  Tell 
me  everything." 

She  laughed  a  happy  laugh,  looking  up  at  the 
German  across  her  sewing.  "  You  do  not  mean  to 
stay  here  long  ?"     It  was  a  hope  akin  to  fear. 

"  No,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  I  have  not  forgotten." 

"  I  do  not  mean  that.  How  could  you  think  it  ?" 
she  returned,  coloring.  "  The  gangs,  for  some 
reason,  I  believe  for  little,  are  set  against  you,  and 


164  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

men's  lives  are  little  valued  in  this  wilderness.  A 
shot,  a  blow, — anything  is  so  easy." 

"  Am  I  so  unpopular  ?  I  wonder  why."  He  felt 
his  own  difficulty  of  being  on  equal  terms  with  the 
wood-people,  and,  also  disliking  the  results,  still 
wondered  at  the  fact.  He  knew  that  he  tried  to  be 
pleasant. 

"  Let  me  ask  you,  is  there  any  real  cause  ?" 

"  Oh,  apart  from  Vickers,  who  isn't  as  bad  as  he 
looks,  and  Philetus " 

"  You  are  stern  at  times." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?" 

"  And  they  say — well,  hard  and  haughty." 

"Ami?" 

"I  think  not,  except  in  manner." 

"  But  that  is  the  only  way  in  which  haughtiness 
shows.  Honestly,  I  do  not  mean  to  be  haughty.  I 
suppose  it  is  education ;  perhaps,  too,  a  matter  of 
caste.  Why  do  you  live  up  here?"  he  added, 
abruptly.     "  Why  not  go  away  ?" 

"I  cannot  afford  to  go,"  she  said,  simply,  and 
went  on  sewing. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  sat  looking  over  at  the 
sweet,  proud  face  and  nimble  hands. 

"  You  are  horribly  frank,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Am  I  ?  That  is  a  matter  of  character,  I  sup- 
pose, and  also,  perhaps,  of  this  open  out-door  life 
away  from  all  social  bonds.  I  often  wonder  if  it 
is  good  for  one.     It  simplifies  life  in  a  way." 

"  Yes,  here  it  suits,  or  seems  to.  If  to  be  uncon- 
ventional always  simplifies  life,  I  doubt.  But  habits 
are  strong  fetters.     I  find  no  effort  needed  to  take 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  165 

up  anew  even  the  absurdities  of  our  most  conven- 
tional life.  As  to  worse  things,  it  is  as  hard  really  to 
barbarize  the  civilized  as  to  civilize  the  barbarous." 

"  Gracious,  what  a  formidable  statement !"  said 
Bessy.  "  You  should  write  books  and  put  in  these 
wise  things  with  portraits  of  the  aborigines,  Paul 
and  myself." 

"  It  is  rather  late,"  he  laughed.  "  The  book  is 
written,  and  you  are  left  out.  I  wrote  a  book  once, 
but  it  was  only  a  memorandum  of  unusually  inter- 
esting travel." 

Men  who  wrote  books  were  rare  in  this  country 
at  that  date. 

Mrs.  Preston  looked  up.     "  Might  I  see  it  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  some  day.     If " 

"  If  I  am  good,  I  suppose." 

"  You  are  always  good.  You  will  be  better  if  I 
may  smoke."  He  never  failed  to  ask  leave  in  her 
house,  or  in  Miriam's,  which  constantly  surprised 
the  ex-actress,  who  said  to  her  friend  Mrs.  Preston 
that  he  was  a  man  had  no  power  to  make  himself 
comfortable.  She  slightly  despised  the  condescen- 
sion of  his  asking,  and  felt  it  to  be  what  she  called 
a  come-down  for  a  man.  To  ask  leave  to  smoke 
in  that  rough  land  was  like  asking  leave  to  breathe. 

"  Oh,  smoke,  by  all  means,"  said  Bessy.  "  I 
might  bargain  that  there  should  be  no  pipe  until 
we  saw  your  book.  Have  you  no  sense  of  the 
cruelty  of  overtaxing  a  woman's  curiosity?" 

He  smiled,  well  pleased,  as  he  packed  his  meer- 
schaum, then  went  to  the  fire  and  chose  a  brand 
and  blew  it  bright  and  lit  the  pipe,  a  nice  picture 


166  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

with  his  head  up  and  back,  the  tawny  moustache, 
clear  skin,  and  wavy  hair  aglow  as  the  ruddy  pipe- 
light  flashed  over  them. 

"  The  hook  you  shall  have.  It  kept  me  away  to 
finish  it.  Ach,  that  and  other  things.  When  I 
am  gone,  a  copy  will  come  for  you.  I  thank  you 
for  my  good  pipe.     It  is  a  benediction." 

She  knew  easily  what  this  man  wanted  and  did 
not  want.  She  thought  with  a  fierce  pang  how 
often  Paul,  the  husband,  had  puzzled  her.  He  had 
seemed  to  speak  a  moral  language  other  than  that 
she  knew.  As  for  Riverius,  she  understood  almost 
always  or  happily  guessed  beyond.  In  little  and 
large  things  she  mysteriously  apprehended  him. 
Now  she  knew  that  he  did  not  want  to  talk  of  his 
book  and  that  he  was,  as  usual,  shy  of  speech  as  to 
all  that  personally  concerned  himself. 

"  I  can  wait,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  I  know  I 
shall  like  it."  When  he  was  away, — yes,  it  would 
be  better  then.  She  would  read  it  twice.  And  of 
late  she  had  got  a  German  dictionary  and  much 
bettered  what  had  always  been  a  fair  knowledge 
of  that  tongue. 

"  I  shall  like  you  to  like  it,"  he  returned,  simply. 
"  And  to  go  back  to  what  we  were  discussing,  I 
suppose  old  countries  must  have  conventional  laws, 
but  sometimes  I  envy  the  personal  freedom  of  your 
half-tamed  land.  A  man  may  do  so  much  more  as 
he  likes,  and" — he  hesitated — "  as — as  seems  best 
and  most  right.  Sometimes  one  rebels.  I  felt  that 
once  and  quite  enough,  but  since  I  have  been  away 
E  have  felt  it  more.     Do  you  think  a  man  ought 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  167 

to  be  ashamed  of  yielding  to  what  he  knows  are 
absurd  social  rules,  the  growth  of  centuries,  things 
that  have  obtained  the  despotism  of  instincts  ?" 

"  I  hardly  understand  you,"  said  Bessy.  "  You 
should  put  it  more  clearly."  She  was  really  at  a  loss. 

"  Ach  !  I  talk  foolishness." 

"No,  only  half  sense.  You  are,  I  should  think, 
a  man  likely  to  do  what  you  know  to  be  right." 

"  But  I  do  not  know.     That  is  the  trouble." 

"  "Will  not  time  help  you  ?"  She  was  getting 
more  and  more  uneasy  and  more  and  more  dubious. 

"  Time  brings  in  too  many  counsellors,  and  there 
is  foolishness  in  that,  as  we  know.  Might  I  put  a 
case  to  you?  You  are  of  all  women  I  ever  knew 
the  most  capable  of  being  just.     I " 

"I  would  rather  not,"  said  Bessy,  decisively. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  returned,  moodily. 
"  And  yet  you  will  pardon  me,  I  am  sure.  I  am 
buffeted  about  by  a  mob  of  motives,  and  it  is  hardly 
fair  to  talk  as  I  have  done,  giving  half  knowledge 
and  craving  whole  advice."  She  was  silent,  and 
he  went  on  abstractedly :  "  My  young  life  on  a 
great  estate  was  bad  for  me.  I  was  too  much  with 
inferiors.  Eton  was  better;  and  my  army  life,  I 
suppose,  helped  again  to  make  me  despotic." 

"  !N"o, — positive,  authoritative,"  she  interposed. 

"  Well,  that,  if  you  please.  As  to  my  brief  expe- 
rience of  diplomacy,  I  hated  it,  and  when  my  uncle's 
death  made  me  independent  I  began  to^wander, 
and  now  here  I  am,  a  rolling  Saxon  stone."  And 
he  laughed.  "  You  have  long  had  a  friend's  right 
to  know  more  of  my  life,  but " 


168  FAR  IN  THE   FOREST. 

"  Oh,  I  understand,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  I  believe  you  do,  always,  wonderfully." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  frankly.  "  You  are 
going  away " 

"  Yes,  but  I  hope  to  return  in  summer.  You 
will  not  quite  forget  me  ?"     And  he  rose. 

"  I  shall  not,"  she  said,  looking  up.  "  But  if  I 
were  in  any  risk  of  forgetting  the  only  friend  chance 
has  sent  me,  Paul  would  hardly  let  me.  You  are 
his  one  hero.  Really,  it  is  amusing  to  see  how 
much  he  thinks  of  you." 

"  Ah !  that  is  not  bad  flattery.  How  can  one 
have  too  much  of  such  friendliness  ?  Tell  him  a 
good-by  for  me." 

"  He  will  be  up  to  see  you  off.  And  so  you  are 
going?     Well,  good-by  again." 

He  said  he  would  get  away  early, — a  man  would 
carry  his  traps, — and  so  left  her. 

Mrs.  Preston  sat  awhile,  her  work  in  her  lap, 
thinking.  Never  before  had  Riverius  talked  as 
much  or  as  nearly  of  his  own  affairs.  "What  had 
he  meant  ?  A  subtler  or  vainer  woman  might  have 
guessed  his  riddle  and  in  the  closeness  of  self  sus- 
pected the  nature  of  it.  She  was  incapable  of  these 
sudden  feminine  suspicions  as  to  another,  but  was 
more  competent  to  reason  out  some  comprehension 
of  his  dimly-seen  difficulty.  At  last  it  came  upon 
her  with  the  force  of  a  blow.  Was  she  directly 
concerned  in  his  indecision  ?  She  flushed.  Annoy- 
ance, pride,  distinct  anger  at  the  position,  in  turn 
affected  her.  More  and  more  disturbed,  she  went 
to  bed,  and  lay  awake,  thinking,  and  little  knowing 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  1Q§ 

that  at  the  same  time  Riverius  was  walking  to  and 
fro  in  his  cabin,  as  much  troubled  as  herself.  He 
packed  his  valise,  put  away  many  articles,  locked 
the  trunks  he  was  to  leave  behind  him,  and  then 
stood  before  the  fire,  reflecting.  He  wished  that  he 
had  ended  his  doubt  when  he  was  last  in  America. 
Now  it  was  harder;  and  yet  his  profound  sense  of 
obligation  to  Mrs.  Preston,  which  had  once  almost 
annoyed  him,  he  gladly  felt  was  merged  in  a  general 
conviction  of  the  need  his  life  had  for  this  woman. 
It  was  a  more  healthy  state  of  mind.  Natures  like 
his  resent  obligation,  and  acknowledge  no  capacity 
of  requital.  But  love  pays  all  debts,  and  he  was 
close  to  the  belief  that  all  else  in  life  was  nothing 
without  this  woman,  and  was  fast  becoming  rec- 
onciled to  having  owed  his  life  to  her.  He  was 
helped,  too,  by  the  assurance  he  felt  that  her  gentle 
soul  seemed  to  have  utterly  forgotten  the  service. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

Biverius  left  on  a  Saturday,  and  the  day  seemed 
of  the  longest  to  Elizabeth  Preston. 

All  strong  emotions  have  their  sequent  moods  of 
tire,  elation,  or  depression.  To-day  she  was  help- 
less in  the  grasp  of  active  discontent, — ill  pleased 
with  herself,  unreasonably  displeased  with  Riverius. 
The  wind  blew  warm  from  the  south.  A  deluge  of 
rain  cleared  the  trees  of  the  ice  and  snow,  and  the 
heavy  air  seemed  to  foster  her  mood  of  melancholy. 
As  a  rule,  she  was  unirritable,  and  of  an  easy  natu- 
ral gentleness.  Saint  Temperament  is  a  good  saint ; 
but  now  she  was  short,  even  with  Paul,  cross  to 
Becky,  and  more  and  more  vexed  with  herself,  as 
she  recalled  the  conclusions  to  which  an  intelligent 
study  of  herself  had  brought  her.  But,  reason 
anew  on  it  all  as  she  might,  her  mental  machinery 
was  too  good  to  evolve  for  her  any  of  the  fallacies 
with  which  lower  natures  oheat  themselves.  There 
are  certain  truths  which,  like  the  eyes  of  a  fair 
portrait,  follow  us  implacably. 

The  Sunday  which  came  after  that  unhappy  Sat- 
urday Bessy  long  remembered.  All  day,  into  the 
afternoon,  it  rained  hard,  and  Paul  and  she  stayed 
wTithin-doors.  The  lesson  of  the  day,  and  the 
psalm,  were  read  in  their  usual  routine,  and  then 
Paul  loitered  over  a  book,  or,  only  half  attentive, 
looked  up  or  went  to  the  door  to  see  if  there  was 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  171 

any  prospect  that  the  steady  down-pour  would  ever 
end.  At  times  he  put  the  neglected  author  aside 
and  chatted  with  his  mother,  who  gave  him,  this 
day,  but  a  divided  attention. 

It  was  now  suddenly  borne  in  on  the  boy's  mind 
that  she  looked  very  young.  Of  late  he  had  been 
half  aware  of  a  fresh  touch  of  youthful  gayety  in 
her  ways  and  manner.  She  had  taken  with  the 
daily  bread  of  life  a  sudden  draught  of  its  elixir. 
He  said,  with  a  little  shyness  (as  if  it  were  a  deli- 
cate matter),  "How  old  are  you,  mother?  I  was 
wondering,  yesterday." 

Bessy  put  down  her  book  and  smiled.  "  Why 
do  you  ask  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  rightly  know.  Mr.  Riverius  said — 
he  said  I  was  awfully  big  to  be  your  son." 

"  Mr.  Riverius  is  very  impertinent,  Master  Paul. 
You  are  a  pair  of  gossips.  Am  I — do  I  look  so 
very  old  ?" 

Paul  had  the  well-mannered  child's  dislike  to 
hearing  a  parent  spoken  of  as  old. 

"  Old  !  old!"  he  returned,  reproachfully.  "He 
said  no  such  thing;  and  I  didn't  say  it."  Then  he 
let  fall  his  book  and  went  over  and  kissed  her.  "  I 
do  think  you  are  so  pretty,  mother.  I  asked  Mr. 
Riverius  once  if  he  didn't  think  you  were  pretty ; 
and  what  do  you  think  he  said  ?" 

B37  this  time  Bessy  began  to  be  conscious  of  hav- 
ing more  blood  in  her  face  than  was  pleasant,  and, 
since,  like  murder,  blushes  will  out,  she  feared 
detection :  they  did  not  seem  fully  to  explain 
themselves.     She  was  getting  annoyed. 


172  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  that  Mr.  Rive- 
rius  never  meant  you  to  repeat  his  talk." 

"  Oh,  but  it  wasn't  anything  much.  He  just 
said " 

"  No  matter  what  he  said."  Nevertheless  she 
was  as  eager  as  a  child  to  know. 

"  But  he  said  I  was  foolish, — that  when  I  grew 
up  and  saw  many  women  I  would  know  better." 

"  Oh,  indeed !"  said  Bessy.  "  Was  that  what 
he  said  ?  I  cannot  see  why  you  made  such  a  fuss 
over  it." 

"  Oh,  but  that  wasn't  all !"  exclaimed  Paul, 
considering  that  now  she  had  given  him  leave  to 
speak.  "  He  said  you  were  noble-looking,  and  that 
you  had  a  woman's  head  and  a  child's  heart.  I 
think  that  was  very  nice  of  him." 

"  I  think  it  was,"  said  Bessy,  humbly.  "  But 
never  tell  him  you  told  me.  He  would  cease  to 
talk  to  you  as  a  friend  if  he  thought  every  light 
word  was  reported  to  me.     Eemember,  Paul." 

The  manner  of  the  rebuke  was  stern,  the  face 
whence  it  came  was  joyous. 

He  stood  beside  her  as  he  spoke,  looking  up. 
"You  aren't  angry,  mother?"  he  said.  "I  didn't 
mean — I " 

"  Nonsense !"  she  cried,  and  caught  him  in  her 
arms  and  kissed  him  again  and  again.  Usually  to 
him  she  was  gently  affectionate.  The  little  out- 
break of  demonstrative  tenderness  had  more  sources 
than  the  boy  could  have  dreamed  of. 

"  There,  go,"  she  cried,  laughing,  and  pushing 
him  away. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  173 

"  The  rain  is  over.  It  is  clearing.  I  think  I 
shall  walk  down  to  the  mill.  The  hill-slopes  will 
not  be  as  bad  as  the  level. " 

With  a  word  or  two  more,  he  left  her. 

She  rose  and  looked  out. 

The  cabin  felt  close.  One  has  in-door  moods, 
and  out-door  moods,  in  which  it  is  punishment  to 
be  between  four  walls.  She  longed  to  be  out  and 
moving. 

She  caught  up  a  chip  hat  and  tied  its  flaps  down 
to  guard  her  from  the  increasing  sunshine.  Then 
she  pinned  up  her  skirts,  being  minded  to  walk 
at  ease,  and  went  on  to  the  porch. 

The  rain  had  fallen  all  day  from  a  windless  sky, 
gradually  becoming  less  and  less,  till  it  was  now  but 
a  white  mist  in  the  lower  air,  and  of  purer  whiteness 
because  of  the  westering  sun  yet  high  above  it.  Two 
or  three  inches  of  soft  snow  were  on  the  ground, 
and  here  and  there  deeper  drifts,  wet  and  treacher- 
ous. The  air  was  strangely  warm.  She  looked 
down  at  her  stout  shoes,  buttoned  her  jacket  of 
squirrel-skins,  the  product  of  Kiverius's  skill,  and, 
standing,  wondered  at  the  beauty  of  the  scene  be- 
fore her. 

A  mood  of  elation  had  taken  the  place  of  the 
depression  of  the  day  before.  Looking  to  and  fro, 
she  had  a  joyous  sense  of  being  in  just  relation 
with  the  still  day,  the  well-bathed  woods,  the  misty 
whiteness  of  the  sunlit  haze.  She  was  too  happy 
for  successful  analysis,  yet  she  tried,  for  a  sweet 
moment,  to  make  out  the  sources  of  her  pleasurable 
mood.     But  the  motions  of  the  heart  can  no  one 


174  FAR   IN  THE  FOREST. 

self-understand,  or  watch  in  the  mirror  of  con- 
sciousness, any  more  than  one  can  see  his  material 
eyes  move  in  the  glass  which  seems  so  truthfully 
to  reflect  them. 

She  stood  thinking  a  little  while,  and  then  got 
away  from  the  faint  effort  to  see  herself,  and  sur- 
rendered to  the  bribes  of  a  perfect  day. 

A  positive  sense  of  health  and  vigor  of  mind 
and  body  possessed  her.  Crossing  the  clearing, 
she  entered  the  woods.  Everywhere  she  saw  the 
blackened  tree-trunks  and  noted  how  the  mists 
were  swiftly  disappearing  in  the  absolute  stillness 
of  the  air,  in  which  not  a  twig  stirred  overhead. 
Between  the  net- work  of  branches  the  blue  sky 
was  visible  in  its  rain-washed  purity  of  hue.  No- 
ticing, as  singular,  the  quietness  of  the  forest-spaces, 
she  came  of  a  sudden  into  a  rather  open  grove  of 
firs,  spruce,  and  young  pines,  and  gave  a  little 
shiver  of  pure  joy.  On  every  pendent  needle,  and 
at  the  tips  and  edges  of  every  naked  twig,  the 
quiet,  slowly-ceasing  rain  had  left  beads  and  fringes 
of  clear  water-drops.  Through  these  the  sun  cast 
its  white  light,  so  that  it  split  into  a  million  little 
fan-like  expansions  of  colors.  Everywhere  about 
were  inconceivable  myriads  of  jewels  hung  from 
twig  and  stem  and  pendent  pine-needles.  In  all 
her  wood-life  she  had  never  before  seen  this  rare 
and  lovely  sight,  for  which  that  unfrequent  thing, 
a  windless  slowly-falling  rain,  is  indispensable.  Its 
splendors  matched  her  mood  of  joy.  She  wished 
for  Paul,  and  then  for  Riverius,  and  went  on  smiling 
and  happy. 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  175 

Now  iii  a  hollow  the  mist  lay  like  little  white 
lakes,  and  now  a  hank  of  beaded  brown  moss 
caught  her  eye,  and  now  the  stateliness  of  some 
single  pine  surprised  her  with  its  look  of  authori- 
tative vigor. 

Walking  swiftly  and  with  keen  enjoyment  of 
the  use  of  wholesome  limbs  which  knew  not  tire, 
she  descended  the  slope  which  led  to  the  mill-site. 

The  building  stood  in  a  clearing  where  trees  and 
shrubs  had  been  cleanly  cut  away  for  fear  of  the 
ever-dreaded  accident  of  fire.  The  framework 
partly  hid  the  opposite  bank.  Stepping  aside,  in- 
tending to  cross  the  brook,  she  paused  abruptly. 

On  the  farther  shore  stood  Philetus,  erect,  bare- 
headed, silent,  looking  up  at  the  sky,  his  sightless 
eyes  unmindful  of  the  sun. 

For  a  moment  she  was  about  to  speak,  but  some- 
thing in  his  manner  excited  her  curiosity,  and  she 
waited,  watchful. 

The  keen  ears  of  the  blind  man  detected  the 
noise  of  her  step. 

"  Who  is  there?"  he  said. 

She  remained  silent,  until,  thinking  himself  de- 
ceived, he  looked  up  again,  his  lips  moving  as  if 
in  whispered  speech.  At  intervals  he  passed  a 
hand  quickly  across  his  brow  or  turned  his  head  as 
if  to  listen.  At  last  he  spoke.  Alone  as  he  thought 
himself,  some  stringent  passionate  need  forced  from 
his  lips  the  troubling  results  of  thoughts  too  keenly 
felt  for  silent  guard. 

Bessy  instantly  knew  herself  to  be  in  the  position 
of  a  listener  who  has  no  right  to  hear;  but  also  a 


17G  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

certain  fear,  or  rather  awe,  controlled  her, — some- 
thing more  than  mere  curiosity. 

Many  times  before,  she  had  noticed  as  singular 
his  increasing  habit  of  moving  his  lips,  as  if  speak- 
ing things  which  had  to  find  their  way  into  some 
form  of  speech. 

At  least  it  was  thus,  and  justly,  that  she  ex- 
plained this  inarticulate  speech,  which  was  generally 
accompanied  by  an  expression  of  sombre  intensity 
of  self-occupation.  The  next  instant  he  spoke,  at 
first  in  a  broken  whisper,  but  in  a  moment  clearly 
and  in  a  full  loud  voice  : 

"Don't  he  say  as  vengeance  is  his?  and  isn't  it 
writ  as  he  will  repay  them  as  does  his  justice  on 
the  wicked  ?" 

"  Oh !"  exclaimed  Bessy,  shocked  at  his  critical 
analysis  of  that  terrible  text  which  makes  vengeance 
the  unshared  property  of  God. 

Her  faint  cry  caught  the  quick  ear  of  Philetus. 
"  What's  that  ?     Who's  there  ?"  he  said. 

She  made  no  answer.  For  a  while  he  moved  to 
and  fro  among  the  trees,  seeming  at  last  to  forget 
his  alarm.  By  and  by  he  came  out  again  to  the 
brook-side,  and  leaned  moodily  against  a  dead  tree 
shivered  by  lightning,  now  and  then  feeling  its 
broken  bark,  here  and  there,  with  the  restless  fin- 
gers of  his  right  hand.  Soon  the  lips  moved  again, 
then  were  at  rest,  then  moved  more  freely,  and,  as 
before,  broke  at  length  into  passionate  speech  : 

"  '  He  has  said  to  me  in  the  night  season,  Burn  ; 
he  has  said  to  me  in  the  daylight,  Slay ;  the  woman 
that  deceiveth  shall  surely  die ;  the  man  that  be- 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  177 

guileth  shall  perish;  lire  shall  follow  him,  fire  shall 
devour  his  substance.'  It's  gettin'  clearer.  Thar's 
this  here  tree  as  he  smote  with  lightnin',  or  he 
might  of  minded  to  rot  it  with  worms,  or  vex  it 
with  galls,  or  put  it  in  my  head  to  ruin  it  with  an 
axe.     Ain't  it  him  all  the  same  as  does  it  ?" 

The  idea  appeared  to  please  Philetus ;  a  sense  of 
satisfaction  was  visible  on  his  face ;  he  seemed  to 
have  found  for  himself  a  reasonable  justification. 
Leaving  the  blasted  tree,  he  moved  to  the  brook, 
felt  with  his  foot  for  the  planks,  and  crossed  them 
steadily. 

He  came  straight  towards  Bessy,  and  seemed  to 
regard  her  so  fixedly  that  she  could  hardly  escape 
from  the  feeling  that  he  saw. 

Not  two  yards  away  he  paused,  she  silent,  hardly 
daring  to  breathe.  For  the  first  time,  Philetus 
appeared  to  her  as  a  possible  source  of  evil,  and 
with  startling  clearness  she  comprehended  his  con- 
dition and  read  but  too  plainly  the  meaning  of  his 
words. 

He  was  so  near  that  he  could  almost  have  touched 
her,  when  he  spoke  again.  "  Voices  by  night  and 
by  day, — voices, — voices."  And  so,  with  his  head 
in  the  air,  well  set  back  after  the  way  of  the  blind, 
he  moved  through  the  woods  and  towards  Bessy's 
distant  cabin,  muttering  as  he  went. 

At  times  he  paused,  hearing  in  his  ears  cries 
as  of  urgent  imperative  counsellors.  There  were 
moments  of  doubt,  but  the  incessant  is  a  terrible 
despot;  and  ever  and  ever,  by  day  and  by  night, 
strange  whispers  were  as  an  eager,  restless  atmos- 


178  FAR   IN  THE   FOREST. 

phere  round  about  him.  He  answered,  as  they 
spoke,  or  made  comments  under  his  breath,  as  if 
fearing  to  speak  aloud. 

Behind  him  at  some  little  distance  came  the 
woman,  anxious,  pitiful,  no  longer  afraid ;  for  many 
things  cast  out  fear. 

Philetus  kept  his  path  steadily  athwart  the  for- 
est, now  touching  a  barked  tree,  now  pausing,  and 
soon  settling  his  doubts  so  as  for  a  while  to  move 
on  as  if  certain  of  his  way.  Cultivated  capacities 
enabled  the  blind  man  to  move  at  ease  where  mere 
untrained  eyes  had  been  valueless. 

"Woodmen  find  it  hard  or  impossible  to  tell  you 
how,  at  night,  they  pass  with  directness  through 
the  darkened  forest;  and  it  would  have  been  hard 
for  Philetus  to  analyze  the  means  by  which  he 
guided  his  steps.  It  was  certain,  of  late,  that  he 
did  it  less  well,  finding  it  impossible  at  times  to 
give  the  needed  attention  to  the  limited  aid  his 
senses  afforded.  Voices,  none  but  he  could  hear, 
troubled  and  distracted  him.  For  days  they  were 
gone  or  faintly  heard,  and  again,  as  now,  they 
screamed  in  his  ears  wild  and  eager  counsels. 

He  stopped,  turned  around,  touched  one  or  two 
trees,  and  then,  at  last,  stood  still.  As  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton cautiously  came  near,  she  saw  that  he  wore  a 
look  of  painful  puzzle. 

He  said  aloud,  after  his  frequent  fashion  of  self- 
communing,  "  I'm  a-losin'  my  cunnin' ;  'tain't  natu- 
ral I  should  git  so  bothered.  Eothin'  'ain't  hap- 
pened ;  here's  me,  and  here's  the  wood,  and  I'm 
lost.     I'd  hate  Consider  for  to  know  that." 


FAR   IN  THE  FOREST.  179 

As  he  ceased  to  speak,  Mrs.  Preston  called 
aloud, — 

"  Is  that  you,  Philetus  ?  How  very  lucky !  How 
should  I  ever  have  found  ray  way  in  this  ridiculous 
tangle  ?" 

As  she  spoke,  she  came  to  his  side. 

"Mornin',  Madam  Preston,"  said  Philetus. 
"  Rightly,  it  ain't  mornin' ;  but,  bein'  blinded,  a 
man  don't  keep  just  'count  of  time.  Lost  your 
way,  did  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes.  It  isn't  easy,  Philetus,  and  it  is  getting 
well  on  in  the  day,  too ;  I  never  was  forced  to 
camp  out  alone,  and  this  time  you  will  save  me." 

"  How  you  city  folks  git  dazed  like,  and  wood- 
wild,  is  past  comprehendin'." 

For  a  moment  a  mischievous  desire  to  insist  on 
his  leading  the  way  crossed  Bessy's  mind;  but 
another  glance  at  the  perturbed  face  checked  her 
mirthful  purpose. 

"  How  absurd  it  is !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Why, 
if  I  had  only  turned  half  around  I  should  have 
seen  the  two  burnt  pines  at  the  turn  of  the  lower 
ox-road.  Come,  Philetus ;  I  shall  not  need  your 
help.     How  is  Miriam  ?     There's  the  ox-road." 

He  followed  her,  answering  as  he  went  that  all 
was  well  at  home.  Of  a  truth,  her  coming  had 
been  a  vast  relief.  He  could  never  have  brought 
himself  to  own  that  his  boasted  wood-craft  had 
failed  him.  As  to  this,  and  some  other  matters, 
he  was  singularly  vain.  They  turned  into  the  ox- 
road,  and  could  now  walk  side  by  side. 

"  Where  were  you  going,  Philetus  ?"  she  said. 


180  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  I  was  a-wanderin\  Of  a  Sabbath  I  like  to  go 
to  and  fro  in  the  woods,  I've  got  to  be  that  uneasy 
at  home." 

"  What  makes  you  uneasy  ?" 

He  turned  his  head  as  if  to  look  at  her. 

"  Did  I  say  as  I  was  uneasy  ?" 

"  Yes ;  that  is  what  you  said." 

"  Well,  I  am.  I'm  that  pestered.  Do  you  think 
the  devil  can  talk  loud  in  a  man's  ears  so's  no  man 
else  can  hear?     Oh,  the  tongues  he  must  know!" 

"  Does  he  talk  to  you  ?" 

"  I  never  said  it." 

"  I  think  people  get  such  fancies ;  and  perhaps 
whiskey  helps  to  make  them.  He  seems  far  away 
this  quiet  Sunday.  The  woods  are  still  and  cool 
with  the  rain,  and  all  the  leaves  are  shining,  and 
the  birds  are  calling,  and  the  squirrels  are  busy, 
and  over  us  the  white  clouds  are  drifting,  and  now 
above  it  is  blue,  and  now  a  gray-white,  through 
the  rifts  in  the  woods.  The  peace  of  the  woods, 
Philetus,  seems  to  me  to  pass  all  understanding." 

As  she  spoke,  a  gentle  look  of  calm  came  over 
his  face. 

He  had  the  rare  love  for  nature  which  seems  to 
be  born  in  some,  and  which  no  education  can  pro- 
duce, and  he  was  thankful  because  of  the  pains  she 
took  to  make  him  aware  of  the  woodland  beauty. 

He  was  now  quiet  in  mind.  At  all  times  Bessy 
controlled  him.  There  is  something  delicately  fine 
in  the  way  certain  natures  act  one  on  another  for 
good.  The  goodness  of  mere  commonplace  people 
is  often  valueless;  the  setting  is  something. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  l%\ 

He  said,  "  Yes,  ma'am.  There's  texts  that  has 
no  need  to  be  bob-tailed  with  sermons;  there's 
texts  that  preaches  themselves;  and  when  a  man 
says  to  me,  '  the  peace  of  the  woods,'  which  might 
be  the  same  as  God's  peace,  or  jus'  a  part  of  his 
peace, — when  he  says  '  that  passeth  all  uncler- 
standin','  it  jus'  gives  a  man  the  notion  of  what  a 
small  little  thing  it  is,  that  there  understandin',  and 
how  it  gives  out,  like,  when  it  gits  sot  to  studyin' 
God  Almighty.  I  'ain't  really  had  no  peace  these 
few  days.  There's  a  singin'  and  a  sayin'  and  a  coun- 
sellin'  in  my  head  like  to  drive  me  mad.  Come 
an  hour,  it's  clean  gone,  like  as  it  never  had  been. 
That's  peace, — God's  peace.  Fact  is,  it  does  seem 
's  if  all  right  honest-minded  peace  might  be  his, 
anyways.  It  ain't  a  thing  of  understandin',  and 
you  did  kind  of  make  it  plain  to  my  blindness. 
Now,  Myry  'ain't  got  that  gift  at  all.  Why,  Mrs. 
Preston,  she  don't  hardly  know  a  pine  from  a  pop- 
lar; and  when  I  told  her  last  week  the  turkey-foot 
ferns  was  a  heap  more  like  peacocks  than  turkeys, 
she  never  knowed  what  I  meant;  and  the  pride  of 
the  things!  it  jus'  sticks  out!" 

"Well,  she  can  see  a  cobweb  far  enough,  Phile- 
tus.  And  who  can  beat  Myry's  rolls  ?  I  couldn't 
make  one  of  them  if   I  were  to  study  a  year." 

"  Might  be,"  said  Philetus,  complacently.  "  I 
kin  cook  a  bit  myself."  He  was  reflecting,  not  un- 
pleased,  upon  the  range  and  variety  of  his  own 
gifts,  and  moved  along  smilingly. 

"  This  is  the  ox-road,"  said  Bessy.  "  Wasn't  it 
stupid  of  me  to  lose  myself?     Come  home  with  me 


182  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

and  have  supper ;  or  shall  you  go  back  home  before 
dark?" 

"  I  carries  my  night  round  with  me  always.  It 
don't  make  no  difference  to  me  what's  the  time  of 
day.     Folks  don't  git  used  to  thinkin'  that." 

"  Of  course;  I  knew.     Will  you  come?" 

"  No ;  I'll  go  back.  What  was  that  thar  noise  I 
heerd  ?" 

"  Noise.     I  heard  nothing." 

"  Thought  I  heerd  it.     Wasn't  nuthin',  I  guess." 

But  his  face  grew  suddenly  anxious,  and  his 
head  turned  aside  as  if  to  hear.  He  at  once  sus- 
pected that  what  he  heard  had  been  one  of  the 
many  noises  which  bewildered  his  brain,  and  he 
became  instantly  cautious,  reticent,  and  suspicious. 

"  Sit  down  a  little,"  said  Mrs.  Preston.  "  I  am 
in  no  haste.  Here,  on  this  log."  And  she  plucked 
at  his  sleeve. 

Hesitating  a  moment,  he  sat  down. 

"  Was  you  wantin'  me  to  bide  fur  any  thin'  per- 
tickeler  ?" 

"  No,  no ;  nothing,  except  that  I  wanted  to  ask 
you  what  is  the  matter  with  you  of  late.  You 
mutter  to  yourself;  you  speak  aloud  at  times  and 
say  such  strange  things ;  you  look  so  disturbed, 
and honestly,  Philetus,  what's  the  matter  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  ain't  nuthin'." 

He  was  at  once  on  guard.  Like  all  persons  with 
his  peculiar  form  of  mental  trouble,  he  was  very 
frank  until  taught  by  experience  that  anybody  dis- 
believed him.  Then  he  became  cunning,  watchful, 
indisposed  to  talk  of  his  torments  or  temptations. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  183 

"  You  are  not  speaking  the  truth,  Philetus.  "We 
have  been  good  friends,  and  now  I  want  to  help 
you.  By  this  time  you  must  know  how  much  I 
want  to  help  you." 

"I  'ain't  no  need,"  he  said,  rising  hastily.  "I 
guess  it's  wearin'  on  towards  evenin'.     I  must  go." 

"  But,  Philetus " 

"  I  'ain't  the  time  to  bide.  I  left  Myry  alone. 
Good-evenin',  Mrs.  Preston." 

She  made  no  further  effort  to  stay  him,  and  he 
strode  away  through  the  woods,  leaving  her  seated, 
deep  in  thought,  on  the  crumbling  log. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

A  week  passed  by,  and  then  another,  and  the  too 
eventless  life  of  their  cabin  continued.  The  first 
day  of  spring  had  lured  Bessy  to  a  seat  under  the 
porch,  and,  quite  alone,  she  sat  now  sewing,  now 
letting  her  work  fall  on  her  lap  and  staring  into  the 
woodland  spaces  as  if  in  their  depths  were  answers 
to  her  questioning  fancies.  At  last  she  heard  Paul's 
voice,  and  saw  him  tumble  himself  over  the  snake 
fence  in  his  haste,  and  then  beheld  him,  too  breath- 
less to  speak,  at  her  side. 

"  Mother !  mother !"  he  exclaimed. 

"Take  time,"  she  said.  "Be  quiet.  "Wait. 
Now,  then,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  The  mill  is  burned  down.    I  knew  it  would  be." 

"  That  is  bad  news,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  and  Mr.  Riverius  away,  and  no  one  at 
work  there." 

"  Why,  Paul,  it  must  have  been  set  afire  by  some 
one  maliciously.     Was  it  still  burning  ?" 

"  No.  It  might  have  been  done  some  days.  It's 
off  the  ox-roads,  and  no  one  lives  near  it.  Philetus 
is  the  nearest." 

"  Philetus  !"  she  said. 

"  Yes.     What's  the  matter,  mother  ?" 

"  Nothing;.  I  must  £0  in  and  write  to  Mr.  Rive- 
rius.  My  letter  can  go  to  Pierson's  camp.  That  is 
the  quickest  way." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  185 

Then  she  went  in.  She  wrote  at  once  to  the 
German,  merely  telling  him  of  the  loss.  Her  own 
mind  was  pretty  clear  as  to  the  author  of  the  mis- 
chief, but  she  was  not  altogether  certain,  and  she 
saw  no  good  in  detailing  her  suspicions.  Nor  were 
these  to  remain  quite  undisturbed.  The  day  after 
her  letter  had  gone,  she  heard  the  voice  of  Philetus 
in  the  kitchen.  Of  late  he  rarely  came  to  the  cabin, 
except  to  use  her  ox-cart  to  fetch  in  the  wood  he 
was  chopping.  Now  he  was  deep  in  talk  with 
Becky,  who  had  asked  him  what  he  thought  had 
made  the  mill  burn  down.  Mrs.  Preston  called 
him. 

"  Good-morning,  Philetus,"  she  said.  "  All  well 
at  home  ?" 

"  Yes.  We  ain't  ill  off,  thanks  to  you,  ma'am. 
Might  be  harder  times." 

"  I  heard  you  speak  of  Mr.  Riverius's  mill." 

"  It  was  spoke  of  to  me." 

"  Yes,  I  know.     Who  set  that  afire,  Philetus  ?" 

"  Lightnin',  maybe." 

"  Nonsense ! — at  this  season." 

"  Pve  seen  lightnin'  afore,  in  February." 

"  But  we  have  had  none." 

"  That's  so."     And  he  was  silent. 

"  I  think,  myself,  Philetus,  that  it  was  the  work 
of  malice." 

"No,  no;  not  malice.  God's  judgment  ain't 
malice." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Well,  ther's  people  as  thinks  he  deserved  it,— 
him  that  owned  that  mill." 


186  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  What  ?" 

"  Else  how  could  it  have  chanced  ?" 

"  It  did  not  chance.  You  all  hate  him.  The 
more  kind  he  is  to  you,  the  more  you  hate  him. 
Some  one  of  you  did  this  to  hurt  a  man  you  dare 
not  face.  Some  coward  did  it.  Perhaps  'twas  that 
wolf  Ance,  who  remembers  his  punishment." 

"  'Twasn't  Ance." 

"  Why  do  you  say  so  ?     How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  'Tain't  like  Ance." 

"  Do  you  know  who  did  it  ?" 

"  If  I  do,  I  ain't  minded  to  say.  Him  as  done  it 
might  have  been  a  firebrand  in  the  hands  of  the 
Lord." 

"  Stuff!     No,  you  cannot  go." 

He  was  moving  away.  She  laid  a  hand  on  his 
arm.     He  paused. 

"  Was  it  you  who  burned  the  mill  ?" 

"No;  I  didn't  do  it." 

"  You  would  not  lie  to  me,  Philetus :  that  I  am 
sure  of." 

She  was  glad  of  his  denial,  yet  puzzled  and 
doubtful. 

As  she  spoke,  he  went  away,  without  uttering 
another  word,  and  presently  crossed  the  clearing, 
and,  entering  the  woods,  sat  down  on  a  stump.  By 
and  by  he  said,  aloud,  "  When  the  hand  of  God 
air  on  a  man,  and  he  air  a-speakin'  to  him  and 
a-preachin',  that  thar  man  he  does  as  he's  bid. 
'Tain't  him,  but  the  Lord.  I  said  it  wasn't  me,  and 
it  wasn't." 

After  this  logical  settlement  with  conscience  he 


FAR   IN  THE  FOREST.  187 

lit  his  pipe  and  went  back  tranquilly  to  his  work  in 
the  pines. 

The  news  of  the  burning  of  the  mill  and  also  of 
Riverius's  sudden  departure  had  been  much  dis- 
cussed in  the  camps,  where  his  famous  victory  over 
Ance  had  excited  great  amazement.  A  few  be- 
lieved he  had  left  in  fear  of  further  trouble,  but  the 
common  sense  of  those  who  had  seen  his  battle  led 
them  to  take  another  view. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  his  absence  was  felt.  His 
wood-gangs  worked  as  usual,  his  money  was  duly 
received,  and  his  men  paid,  but  his  reserve  and  ten- 
dency to  hold  himself  aloof  had  made  him  far  more 
disliked  than  much  worse  peculiarities  would  have 
done.  Philetus  was  glad  of  his  absence.  He  more 
than  any  one  else  was  annoyed  at  the  German's 
personal  disinclination  to  accept  him  on  even  terms, 
and  now,  at  least,  he  would  be  at  ease  as  to  Miriam 
for  a  time,  for  as  to  this  Philetus  had  a  feeling 
which  certainly  passed  the  line  of  healthy  thought. 
The  blind  are  suspicious,  and  never  since  Phil  had 
overheard  their  laughing  talk  had  he  been  quite  free 
from  the  feeling  referred  to.  Miriam's  moodiness 
and  tears,  really  due  to  the  persecution  of  Ance  and 
his  influence  on  her  husband,  the  latter  put  to  the 
credit  of  the  German,  and  the  malevolent  effects 
of  a  fixed  idea  were  becoming  more  and  more 
serious.  The  mystically  minded  are  of  all  men 
the  most  apt  to  be  illogical,  are  above  others  prone 
to  be  disturbed  mentally  by  the  permanent  enter- 
tainment of  a  false  belief  which  seems  at  last  to 
become  a  part  of  the  structure  of  the  mind  and 


188  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

to  affect  all  its  decisions.  Moreover,  Philetus  had 
a  vast  conception  of  his  own  sagacity,  and  greatly 
overestimated  his  capacity  both  to  observe  and  to 
reason.  His  chosen  comrades  either  flattered  him 
or,  as  in  the  case  of  Ance,  found  in  his  beliefs  a 
cover  for  their  own  schemes.  In  the  domain  of 
morbid  psychology  the  terrible  effects  of  these  abso- 
lute and  false  ideas  are  well  understood,  and  they 
are  among  the  many  causes  which  lead  to  inexpli- 
cable crimes.  As  to  money,  Philetus  was,  on  the 
whole,  easy,  as  Mrs.  Preston  was  still  able  to  give 
him  employment  and  now  and  then  to  help  his 
troubled  wife. 

Meanwhile,  the  spring  went  by,  and  they  rarely 
had  news  of  Riverius.  It  was  late  in  May,  and, 
moved  by  a  visit  from  Miriam,  who  had  come  over 
to  beseech  Mrs.  Preston  to  speak  to  Philetus  of 
his  increasing  ill  temper  and  bad  habits,  Bessy 
went  out  into  the  woods  a  mile  or  so  from  home  to 
seek  the  woodman.  The  day  was  pleasant.  In  the 
deeper  hollows  among  the  rocks  a  little  snow  still 
lay.  The  arbutus  was  ripe  again,  and  the  dogwood 
lit  the  woods  anew.  A  pleasant  calm  was  on  all 
her  being,  a  mood  which  made  her  light  of  heart 
with  some  assurance  that  for  her  life  was  not  yet 
over.  She  went  along  gayly  humming  a  song,  and 
presently  saw  Philetus  sitting  on  a  log,  his  face  in 
his  hands. 

He  turned,  rose  at  her  coming,  and  said,  "  I 
heerd  your  step,  ma'am.     What  might  you  want  ?" 

"  Sit  down,"  she  said,  seating  herself.  "  I  want 
to  talk  to  you."     He  obeyed  her  silently. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  \  §9 

"  I  am  troubled  about  you  of  late,  Philetus,"  she 
said,  kindly. 

"  And  you  ain't  any  more  than  I  am.  Things 
don't  go  'long  as  the  Lord  meant  'em  to  go.  Myry 
does  nothin',  'most,  but  cry  and  jus'  go  round 
stupid  like.  Somethin's  on  her  mind.  And  the 
little  one  ain't  half  looked  arter,  and  I'm  jus'  done 
out  with  'em." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  the  cause,  Philetus.  You  go 
about  with  bad  men.  You  drink.  Oh,  don't  stop 
me.  You  do.  You  half  do  your  work.  What  is 
the  matter?" 

"  Ef  I  drink,  it's  because  I'm  in  trouble,"  he 
said;  "  and  a  man  can't  work  ef  he's  got  things  on 
his  mind." 

"  What  is  it  that  troubles  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  keer  to  talk  it  over.  A  man's  bothers 
is  best  kep'  to  himself." 

"  Have  I  not  been  your  friend  ?  Why  not  speak 
to  me  ?     Is  it  Ance  ?"  she  said,  doubtfully. 

"No;  it  ain't  him." 

"Well,  who  is  it?" 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  tell,"  he  said,  positively. 
"  You  ain't  the  one  I'd  soonest  tell,  anyways. 
Don't  you  go  to  ask  me,  nuther.  I  can't  talk  about 
it.  I  darsn't  think  about  it.  It's  that, — that,"  he 
said,  tapping  his  head,  "and  it's  made  me  do  things 
I  wasn't  bid  to  do.  It  fetches  me  visions,  in  the 
night  and  in  the  day, — things  I  see  in'ardly.  Some- 
times I  think  I  ain't  'countable." 

"  You  must  be  ill,"  said  Bessy.  "  Why  do  you 
not  stop  drinking?" 


190  FAR   IN   THE   FOREST. 

"  I  can't  do  it.  It  ain't  Ance.  He's  minded 
now  to  quit  drink  himself,  but  I  ain't.  It  makes 
me  comfortable,  drink  does.  It  puts  away  them 
visions." 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  Bessy,  authoritatively.  "  The 
drink  is  killing  you,  body  and  soul.  You  must 
stop.  Once  for  all,  it  must  stop.  I  cannot  have  a 
half-drunken  man  about,  and  I  will  not." 

"  I  kin  go,"  he  said,  quietly,  lifting  his  axe  and 
rising. 

She  was  puzzled.  To  cast  him  off  meant  new 
trouble  for  wife  and  child. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  You  must  stay  and  try 
harder.     I  want  to  help,  not  hurt  you." 

"  I  know,"  he  returned.     "  It  ain't  no  use." 

"  It  must  be.  Go  on  with  your  work  here.  Try 
to  do  it  better,  and  pray  God  to  help  you.  I  know 
you  will  succeed." 

He  paused  in  thought.  "  Ain't  a  man  got  a  privi- 
lege to  right  himself  when  there's  somebody  doin' 
him  a  wrong  ?" 

"  No  ;  God  rights  all  wrongs,  soon  or  late, — all 
wrongs.  But  are  you  sure  any  one  has  wronged 
you  V 

"  I  know  it.     God  ain't  more  sure." 

"  Hush  !    I  won't  have  you  talking  in  that  way." 

"  Well,  a  man's  got  to  bide  by  his  own  acts. 
He's  a  fool  to  go  on  lashin'  himself  and  jus' 
thinkin'  and  thinkin'  ef  he's  done  right." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?" 

"  There  ain't  no  law  for  to  make  a  man  tell  ag'in* 
himself." 


FAR   IN  THE  FOREST.  191 

"  I  am  not  the  law.  What  is  it  ?"  She  began 
to  be  both  troubled  and  suspicious. 

"No,  I  know  that,  too;  but  I've  done  a  heap 
of  loose  talkin'  I  wasn't  minded  to  do,  and  I  ain't 
goin'  to  do  no  more.  Ef  you  want  me  to  go  I'll 
go,  and  ef  you  want  me  to  stay  I'll  stay,  and  that's 
all  ther'  is  of  it." 

"Well,  I  will  say  no  more.  Eemember  Myry 
and  the  child,  and  try  to  think  over  what  I  have 
said.  When  Mr.  Biverius  comes  back  I  will  ask 
him  to  give  you  work  again."  She  had  exhausted 
her  resources. 

"  Eyverus  !"  he  murmured,  and  then,  in  louder 
tones,  "  I  don't  do  no  work  for  him.  He  hadn't 
oughter  give  me  work.  He  ain't  comin'  back  soon, 
air  he  ?"  There  was  almost  terror  in  his  voice  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Why  not?"  said  Mrs.  Preston,  surprised. 
"  I  hate  him  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Don't  you  be 
thin  kin'  I'm  afeerd  to  tell  him.  I've  been  nigh  it. 
I've  been  nigh  it.  Twice  I  seed  him  come  to  my 
house  at  night,  and  when  I  got  up  he  was  gone. 
What  fetched  him  there?  The  Lord  knows.  I 
don't  give  no  'count  of  myself  to  nobody,  but 
when  you  git  Ryverus  to  ask  me  to  work  for  him 
you'll  be  makin'  a  mistake." 

"  Are  you  crazy  ?  What  on  earth  do  you  mean 
by  such  nonsense  ?     Let  me  hear  no  more  of  it." 

"  I've  said  enough,  and  too  much,"  he  returned. 
"  Is  it  bide  or  leave,  ma'am  ?" 

"  As  you  please,"  she  said,  much  annoyed. 

"  Then  I'll  stay  till  he  comes."     And  he  turned 

13 


192  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

away,  while  she  walked  past  him  into  the  wood, 
deep  in  thought.  Could  he  have  burned  the  mill  ? 
— and  why?  Nothing  that  she  knew  or  guessed 
explained  the  matter  fully,  but  she  saw  clearly 
enough  that  Philetus  was  not  quite  well  in  mind. 
Strange  he  had  always  been,  but  his  present  mood 
was  inexplicable,  and  quite  unlike  his  former  phases 
of  oddness,  in  which  there  had  certainly  been  noth- 
ing to  cause  anxiety.  As  concerned  Riverius,  it 
troubled  her  greatly ;  but  what  could  she  do  ?  At 
least  when  he  came  she  would  tell  him, — that  was 
a  clear  and  simple  duty, — but,  after  that,  how  help- 
less she  was!  Had  he  deserved  the  evident  dis- 
like he  had  aroused  among  these  wild  lumbermen  ? 
She  was  not  of  the  women  whom  love  makes  blind, 
but  the  very  reserve  and  masterful  ways  of  John 
Riverius  were  things  she  did  not  find  unpleasant, 
although  she  could  have  wished  that  for  his  own 
sake  he  had  been  able  or  willing  to  suppress  them 
at  need.  As  to  any  just  cause  for  the  hatred  Phile- 
letus  had  so  frankly  expressed,  she  was  still  at  a 
loss. 

A  few  days  later,  Miriam  came  over  to  thank 
her.  The  strong  protest  of  a  healthy,  positive  per- 
son had  had  for  a  time  the  useful  value  in  the  way 
of  control  which  it  temporarily  exerts  over  per- 
sons in  the  state  of  mind  which  beset  Philetus. 
The  influence  did  not  last  very  long;  and  when, 
the  week  after,  Paul  told  her  he  had  come  upon 
Philetus  in  the  woods  near  the  burned  mill,  kneel- 
ing as  if  in  silent  prayer,  her  suspicions  as  to  his 
share  in  the  fire  became  stronger.     She  spoke  of 


FAR   IN  THE  FOREST.  193 

tliem  to  no  one,  but,  being  a  woman  resolute  as  to 
any  duty,  went  almost  daily  into  the  forest  where 
Philetus  was  at  work.  One  morning  she  carried 
him  some  trifle  for  the  fair  Ophelia  or  bade  him 
come  and  eat  his  noon-meal  at  her  cabin.  An- 
other time  it  was  tobacco,  of  which  he  was  fond. 
This  persistency  was  winged  with  many  motives, 
not  all  selfish.  As  long  as  she  kept  as  it  were 
touch  of  him,  she  saw  that  he  was  less  moody 
and  drank  none.  Resolute  natures  which  know 
also  how  to  be  sweet  exercise  vast  influence  over 
men.  The  devil  does  not  own  all  the  sugar.  With 
pretty  cunning,  Bessy  put  aside  Riverius  as  if  for- 
gotten, and,  taking  Paul  for  company,  chatted  with 
Philetus  of  the  woods  and  river  and  of  natural 
things  as  to  which  he  was  curiously  interesting, 
liking  well  to  be  questioned.  Then,  too,  she  en- 
listed Consider  Kinsman,  who,  glad  to  be  thought 
an  ally,  had  mournfully,  and  with  lack  of  compre- 
hending it,  watched  his  friend's  degradation,  much 
as  an  intelligent  Newfoundland  dog  might  note 
with  vague  sadness  change  in  the  master.  The 
kindly  task  she  set  herself  did  Bessy  Preston  good. 
She  took  trouble  about  it  and  gave  it  thought,  and 
was  sternly  set  upon  winning  her  gentle  game,  as 
was  natural  to  her  as  to  all  things,  small  or  large, 
which  had  flavor  of  duty.  The  old  fellow  saw  in 
part  her  object,  but,  liking  the  method,  stood  still, 
like  a  restless  horse  of  a  mind  to  have  his  way  but 
flattered  by  the  pleasant  touch. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Consider?     What  a  delightful 
morning!"     She  spoke  to  him  slowly,  and,  as  he 


]94  FAR   IN  THE  FOREST. 

sharply  watched  the  ripe  curves  of  a  mouth  a  little 
too  large  for  mere  beauty,  he  as  usual  understood 
her  words. 

He  smiled.  "  I  felt  a  woodpecker  a-tappin'  on  a 
tree  down  near  the  brook.  That's  a  sure  sign  of 
spring,  ma'am." 

"  What  do  you  call  this  ?"  said  Paul,  putting  a 
plant  in  the  palm  of  Philetus. 

"  It's  a  corpse-light,"  he  returned,  casting  away 
the  gray,  dank  stem  of  ominous  name.  "  It's  bad 
luck  to  have  that  there  weed  come  early." 

Paul  laughed.  "  Bad  luck !  What  is  luck,  any- 
how ?" 

"  Put  aP  before  it,  Paul,"  exclaimed  his  mother. 
"  Luck  is  the  excuse  of  the  weak, — bad  luck,  that 
is."     And  she  laughed  at  her  little  proverb. 

"  There  ain't  no  luck,  really,"  said  Philetus. 
"  Things  is  sot  for  to  happen,  and  some  things  is 
sot  for  to  git  us  ready.  There's  warnin's  by  beasts, 
and  warnin's  by  plants,  like  as  whispers  of  God 
afore  he  talks  out  things  as  is  to  be." 

Consider  regarded  his  friend  with  interest,  wag- 
ging an  approving  head,  and  but  partially  catching 
the  words,  while  Bessy,  not  thinking  the  talk 
wholesome  for  Philetus,  said,  "  Give  me  his  pipe, 
Paul." 

The  boy  took  it  from  the  old  man's  pocket, 
whence,  as  usual,  it  protruded  a  well-blackened 
bowl.  Bessy  filled  it  from  a  pouch  in  her  lap  and 
handed  both  to  the  woodman.  "  I  have  brought 
you  some  excellent  tobacco,"  she  said. 

"  And  I  just  done  mine.    How  you  women  know 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  195 

things  is  past  believin'."  Then  he  struck  a  match 
on  his  corduroys,  and  drew  a  long  draught  of  the 
pleasant  weed. 

"  What's  this  ?"  he  said,  suddenly.  "  That's 
By verus's  baccy.  Knowed  it,  I  did !  None  for  me ! 
none  for  me !"  And  he  absently  emptied  the  pipe 
and  extended  his  hand  with  the  pouch  to  the  giver. 
Paul  looked  his  surprise,  but  Bessy  at  once  threw 
out  the  tobacco  and  came  to  the  blind  man's  side. 
It  was  as  he  had  said.  Riverius  had  left  on  her 
table  by  chance  a  package  of  the  brand  he  com- 
monly smoked. 

"  I  thought  it  might  be  too  weak  for  you,"  she 
said.  "  I  made  the  pouch.  Here  it  is.  I  have 
emptied  it.    I  will  get  you  some  stronger  tobacco." 

"  Made  it  for  me  ?"  he  returned. 

"Yes." 

"I  didn't  have  no  notion  to  offend,''  he  said, 
simply.  "  Smells  is  awful  'minders.  They've  power 
as  is  wonderful  for  to  fetch  back  things  as  ther's  no 
reason  for  considerin'." 

"  I  have  noticed  that,"  she  returned.  "  Remind 
me  to  fill  the  bag.     How  is  Miriam  ?" 

"  Oh,  she's  bettered  some." 

Bessy  smiled,  well  pleased.     "And  Ophelia?" 

His  face  lit  up.  "  Oh,  she's  all  right.  She's  jus' 
a-noddin'  and  a-wavin'  about  like  one  of  them 
Quaker-ladies  in  June  time.  You  can't  do  nuthin' 
w'en  that  child's  round  but  jus'  'tend  to  her,  she's 
that  exactin'." 

"  She  is  like  a  Quaker-lady,"  said  Paul,  who  had 
looked  on  with  interest,  a  little  puzzled. 


196  FAR   IN  THE  FOREST. 

The  blind  man  had  pocketed  the  pouch  and 
taken  up  his  axe  to  go  to  work  at  the  wood  he  was 
hewing.  He  struck  right  and  left  on  the  losr  at  his 
feet,  and  then  paused.  "  Paul  knowed  she  was 
like  a  Quaker-lady,  hut  I  knowed  it  more  in'ardly. 
'Tain't  every  one  gits  a  man's  meanin'." 

"  No,"  said  Bessy.  "  And  there  may  he  many 
meanings."     She  was  humoring  his  mood. 

"  That's  so.  Ther's  that  about  considerin'  the 
lilies  of  the  field.  Now,  that  were  real  ripe 
preachin'.  Ther's  moral  in  'em  fur  smell  and  fur 
seein'.  Ther'  ain't  none  for  hearin'.  Might  mean 
we're  to  l'arn  all  'bout  'em.  All  on  'em.  All  the 
multitude  of  things  that  grows.  Some  air  like 
people.  Ther's  good  and  bad,  and  them  as  blos- 
soms soon,  and  some  as  is  patient  and  keeps  you 
a-thinkin'  the  frost  'ill  catch  'era  and  they  won't 
come  to  nothin'.  And  then,  fur  to  justify  the  Lord, 
they  busts  open  and  spites  the  frosty  days  with 
prettiness." 

"  Like  golden-rod,"  said  Paul. 

"  Ever  anybody  said  your  mother  was  like  golden- 
rod,  Paul  ?" 

"  Never,"  said  Bessy,  laughing.  "  It  is  a  doubtful 
compliment." 

"  Ain't  no  compliment.     It's  true." 

"  Well,  it's  enough  for  to-day.  Come  in  at  noon 
and  get  your  dinner,  and  bring  Consider." 

"  All  right,  ma'am.  I  guess  I've  lost  you  time 
enough.  I'd  best  fell  a  tree  now.  Turn  about, 
work  and  words."  And  he  brought  his  axe  down 
on  the  trunk  at  his  feet,  dexterously  lopping  branch 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  197 

after  branch  of  the  prostrate  giant,  while  Paul  and 
his  mother  walked  away. 

Of  late  Philetus  had  been  at  his  best.  Mrs. 
Preston  was  trying  to  keep  before  him  the  ripe 
fruit  of  the  famous  knowleclge-tree  and  to  hide  the 
immature  product  which  is  evil.  But  his  darker 
hours  were  ever  near  at  hand. 

June  came,  crowned  with  laurels,  and  with  it  a 
letter,  brief  as  usual,  to  say  that  John  Piverius 
would  be  with  them  in  early  July.  He  would  bring 
the  book,  and  Paul  must  write  what  else  they  needed. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

A  few  days  later,  Miriam  came,  at  Mrs.  Preston's 
request,  to  make  a  brief  stay  with  her,  and  a  shake- 
down was  made  for  her  and  the  small  Ophelia  in 
the  sitting-room.  Paul  liked  it  less  than  did  the  two 
women.  The  charm  of  the  child's  ways  he  cared 
for  as  little  as  boys  do.  So  long  as  he  built  dams 
or  corn-cob  houses  for  her,  Ophelia  was  content, 
but  the  least  distraction  of  his  attention  excited 
her,  and  then  he  was  never  let  alone.  She  liked 
her  little  court,  and  gently  intrigued  or  manoeuvred 
to  retain  his  fealty,  gauging  her  likes  very  largely 
by  the  amount  of  attention  she  could  obtain.  Phi- 
letus  never  wearied  of  her,  and  was  her  willing 
slave.  Her  capacity  for  minute  observation  cer- 
tainly came  from  him,  ami  he  valued  it  the  more 
for  that  reason,  while  of  the  mother's  peculiar 
charms  of  rosy  fulness  the  dainty  little  person  did 
not  share  as  yet,  nor  had  she  happily  any  promise 
of  being  subject  to  the  outbursts  of  anger  to  which 
the  much-tried  Miriam  was  at  times  given. 

The  third  day  of  their  stay  Paul  induced  his 
mother  to  go  a  half-mile  down  the  river  to  the 
mountain  and  see  the  laurel  which  now  covered 
it  and  had  given  it  a  name,  and  also  there  was 
the  great  lumber-slide  to  see.  The  two  women, 
used  to  exercise  afoot,  climbed  slowly  up  the  trail, 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  199 

sometimes  relieving  little  Ophelia  by  a  lift,  some- 
times awaiting  her  slower  progress  and  listening 
with  smiles  to  her  incessant  prattle  and  constant 
requests  to  the  much-tasked  Paul  to  know  the 
names  of  the  flowers  or  to  get  her  blackberries. 

In  one  of  the  deep  clefts  between  the  hill-top 
and  the  river  a  sturdy  brook  ran,  whitening  as  it 
fell,  intent  to  find  the  river-level.  On  either  side 
vast  granite  rocks,  tumbled  from  the  cliff  above, 
lay  in  gigantic  masses  in  and  along  the  stream. 
From  the  far  top  of  the  gorge,  the  laurel,  creamy 
white  and  pink,  a  mass  of  unimaginable  tints,  filled 
every  available  space,  and  seen  from  beneath  was 
like  a  cascade  of  bloom,  parting  at  the  rocks,  re- 
uniting below,  and  glorious  as  colors  that  cloak  the 
dying  day. 

The  little  party  stood  below  at  the  brook-side, 
all  more  or  less  feeling  the  effect  of  the  immense 
mass  of  rich  hues  made  up  by  the  double  bloom 
of  the  lesser  and  larger  laurel.  The  day  was  quiet, 
and  the  noise  of  the  riotous  brook  alone  broke 
the  stillness  as  it  leaped  to  view  here  and  there 
among  the  mass  of  flowers  and  came  boldly  out 
at  last,  white  with  gathered  foam,  to  pause  as  if 
for  reflection  in  a  little  pool  before  continuing  its 
journey.  Miriam  said  it  was  just  really  too  beauti- 
ful, and  was  like  a  theatre,  only  it  wasn't  so  gay. 
As  for  Ophelia,  she  desired  to  be  decorated  with 
laurel  and  other  flowers,  and  was  soon  as  well 
garlanded  as  her  namesake.  She  had  a  lively 
pleasure  in  arraying  her  small  person.  The  next 
moment  she  discovered  how  the  stamens  of  the 


200  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

larger  laurel  can  be  made  to  spring  and  scatter  the 
pollen ;  and  this  amused  her  until  she  found  a  bed 
of  violets,  when  she  got  rid  of  her  floral  attire  and 
sat  down,  smoothing  her  dress  and  inviting  Paul  to 
"fight  violets,"  which  consists  in  hooking  the 
crook-like  stems  of  two  of  these  flowers  and  then 
by  a  jerk  beheading  one  of  them,  the  sound  sur- 
vivor being  victorious  for  the  time.  Meanwhile  the 
elder  persons  rested,  chatted,  or  wandered  about. 
Miriam's  reference  to  the  theatre  as  her  highest 
standard  of  comparison  amused  Mrs.  Preston. 

"  I  should  think  that  noisy  stream  was  actor  and 
action  enough  for  you." 

"  It  doesn't  have  any  trouble  with  learning  its 
part.  That  did  use  to  bother  me  when  I  trod  the 
stage.  I  sometimes  think  I  would  like  to  go  and 
do  it  again.  That  child's  got  it  in  her,  but,  for  all 
she's  called  Ophelia,  she  couldn't  ever  do  that  part 
the  way  I  did.  She  doesn't  get  real  angry  or  real 
sorrowful.  I  do  think  sometimes  she  makes  be- 
lieve.    Do  you  think  she  could,  Mrs.  Preston?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  Children  are  dreadfully  com- 
plicated.   I  think  people  who  talk  of  the  simplicity 

of  childhood well,  I  do   not   mean  very  little 

children,  but  like  your  girl — must  see  very  little. 
When  one  comes  to  manage  them  they  do  not  seem 
very  simple." 

"  In  that  book  of  poetry  you  lent  me,  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton, it  says  they're  nigher  heaven  than  we  are,  and 
Christ  he  does  say  to  let  them  come  to  him,  just  as 
if  they  would  come  to  him  of  their  own  accord  if 
we  grown-up  folks  was  to  leave  them  alone." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  201 

"  That  sounds  like  Philetus,"  said  Mrs.  Preston, 
smiling. 

"Well,  he  might  have  said  it.  When  you  live 
with  a  man  has  as  much  wisdom  as  Phil,  you  get 
so  after  a  time  you  don't  rightly  know  what's  his 
and  what's  your  own.  I  do  mind  that  he  said  it 
showed  how  hard  it  was  for  us  grown-up  folks,  or 
else  Christ  wouldn't  have  said,  '  Suffer,'  just  as  if  it 
hurt  us  to  let  them  go  easy  to  him." 

"  Philetus  is  an  interesting  critic,"  said  Bessy, 
knowing;  well  what  Riverius  would  have  said  in 
reply  to  poor  Phil's  explanatory  comments  on  Holy 
Writ. 

"  Yes,  he  is  interesting,"  returned  Miriam.  "  If 
he  had  had  a  right  good  education  there  is  no  say- 
ing what  he  couldn't  have  done.  But  I  don't  think 
he'd  have  made  anything  of  an  actor." 

"  Hardly." 

"  That  child  might,  though  I  don't  consider  the 
stage  for  her  yet."  She  spoke  as  if  Ophelia  were 
grown  up  and  had  hut  to  choose. 

"  It  is  scarcely  a  life  one  would  desire  for  a  girl. 
I  have  heard  you  say  so,  Miriam." 

"You  did;  but,  my  gracious,  Mrs.  Preston,  ain't 
anything  better  than  some  man  like  Ance  Vickers, 
and  sitting  alone  one-half  the  time,  and — and  winter 
nights,  and  frying  salt  pork,  and  living  on  long 
sweetenin'  and  bad  flour  ?  I  tell  you,  I  get  right 
tired  times.  It  ain't  like  having  Hamlet  talk  to 
you,  fool  as  he  was.  I  always  did  think  he  was  a 
fool.     I  used  to  want  to  tell  him  so." 

"  I  wonder  you  did  not,"  said  Bessy,  much  de- 


202  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

lighted.  "  However,  as  to  the  little  one,  there  is 
time  enough  to  think.  Philetus  is  better,  it  seems 
to  me." 

"Yes,  things  are  more  comfortable,  thanks  to 
you,  and  if  Auce  would  go  away,  and  Mr.  Rive- 
rius  too,  we  would  get  along,  I  do  think.  I  don't 
like  to  say  it,  but  Phil  just  hates  him.  I  can 
hardly  speak  a  word  about  him ;  and  I  do  admire 
to  see  him.  I  never  saw  a  man  hadn't  been  on  the 
stage  that  held  himself  like  him ;  and  he's  so  gay, 
too.  Phil's  a  heap  wiser,  but  for  amusing  he  don't 
compare." 

"  Take  my  advice  and  never  mention  him  at 
home.  Your  husband  is  not  well  in  mind,  and  is, 
I  dare  say,  unreasonable." 

"  You've  done  him  a  heap  of  good,  and  I'll  try 
to  take  your  advice ;  but,  bless  me,  I  have  a  long 
tongue,  and  it's  right  hard  to  keep  not  saying  this 
and  not  saying  that.    Men  are  worse  than  children." 

"  Well,  perhaps.  Come  along,  Paul.  Come, 
Ophelia." 

In  a  few  moments  a  strange  roar  was  heard  above 
them,  and  Miriam  started.  She  was  always  inclined 
to  be  nervous.     "  What's  that?"  she  said. 

"  Logs  on  the  slide,"  answered  Paul.  "  There, 
you  can  see  it." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  small  inquirer  at  his  side. 

"  Well,  if  there  was  only  just  a  hill  and  the  river 
down  below,  they  could  cut  a  smooth  place  and 
roll  the  logs  down  it.  That's  a  '  brow.'  But  if 
there  are  deep  places  like  this  to  cross  over,  then 
they  make  a  slide." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  203 

"  Like  in  winter  ?"  said  Ophelia. 

"  No.     You  come,  and  I'll  show  you." 

Ten  minutes  brought  them  out  on  the  cleared 
rocky  summit,  some  eight  hundred  feet  above  the 
Alleghany.  There  was  Kollins,  with  Ance  and 
others,  and  a  quantity  of  logs  brought  thither  in 
winter  on  bob-sleds  and  lying  about  ready  to  be 
sent  down  to  the  river,  to  be  made  into  rafts.  The 
spring  had  been  dry,  and  the  jam  above  had  pre- 
vented the  coming  down  of  the  rafts,  so  that  now, 
taking  advantage  of  a  "  fresh,"  all  hands  were  busy 
getting  down  logs  and  building  these  huge  unwieldy 
structures.  Back  of  the  hill-top  and  away  from 
the  river,  on  a  table-land,  there  had  been  a  noble 
grove  of  pines,  which  when  cut  down  it  was  hard 
to  convey  to  the  stream.  To  do  so  with  least  labor, 
a  lumber-slide  had  been  built  from  the  hill-top. 
It  consisted  of  a  floor  of  roughly-squared  timber 
with  hewn  sides  a  foot  high.  As  this  primitive 
freight-road  could  be  carried  on  supports  across  the 
several  ravines  between  the  table-land  and  the  river, 
it  saved  slow  and  difficult  winter  ox-sledding,  and 
enabled  the  logs,  started  at  the  top,  to  glide  swiftly 
to  the  stream.  The  course  was  slightly  curved,  and 
the  final  drop  from  the  bluff  some  twenty  feet  into 
deep  water. 

As  the  women  approached,  Kollins  and  others 
spoke  to  them.  Vickers  nodded  and  said  good- 
morning,  and  by  and  by  edged  over  towards  Paul, 
who  had  taken  occasion  to  escape  from  the  persua- 
sive Ophelia.  Ance  was  in  a  good  humor,  and  not 
more  full  of  whiskey  than  common.     If  on  him 


204  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

too  frank  Nature  had  set  the  mark  of  the  brute  in 
the  ignoble  nose  and  rounded  ears,  somewhere  she 
had  set,  too,  a  more  than  brutish  admiration  of 
beauty  and  some  faint  sense  of  chivalry  and  fair 
play.  His  rare  personal  strength  was  his  chief 
pride,  and  to  know  that  until  Riverius  had  over- 
come him  he  had  been  the  unquestioned  superior 
in  fight  of  any  man  on  raft  or  in  camp  gratified 
him  greatly.  The  combination  of  qualities  he 
possessed  was  ruinous.  Paul  regarded  him  with 
boyish  dignity. 

"  'Ain't  seen  you  sence  that  scrimmage,"  said 
Ance,  grinning  amicably. 

"No,"  said  Paul,  prudently  concerned  to  keep 
on  good  terms. 

"  Ef  I  hadn't  'a'  bin  awful  full  that  time,  he'd 
'a'  bin  wusted.  Jim  Pearson  'lowed  that  last 
night," — which  was  true,  as  it  was  rather  un- 
pleasant at  times  to  contradict  Vickers.  "  We'll 
have  another  bout  some  day,  and  then  we'll  see, 
maybe." 

"  Why,  look  here,  Ance ;  you  can't  lick  that 
man.     He's  got  too  much  science." 

"  We'll  see,"  said  Ance.  "  Someway  him  and 
roe's  got  to  get  even  ;  and  Ance  Yickers  ain't  the 
man  to  hide  it,  nuther.  I  was  a-wantin'  to  say  to 
you  thet  I  ain't  goin'  to  keep  you  skeered  about 
them  hornets,  and  you're  a  right  plucky  boy. 
'Tain't  many  boys  would  have  come  and  wanted 
me  to  lick  'em.  Don't  you  try  no  more  tricks  on 
me,  and  I'll  say  it's  quits." 

"  All  right,"  said  Paul.     He  was,  on  the  whole, 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  205 

well  pleased,  having  a  dreadful  memory  of  that 
cracking  limb  and  the  wicked  hairy  red  face.  But 
he  too  had  his  boy  chivalry,  and  added,  "  I  don't 
mean  I'm  on  your  side.  Mr.  Riverius  is  my  friend. 
I'd  stand  by  him  any  time."  And  he  proudly  felt 
that  he  had  done  so.  "  Oh,  they're  going  to  start 
a  log!"     And  he  ran  away. 

A  movable  derrick  was  so  rigged  as  to  swing  a 
huge  shorn  pine  on  to  the  head  of  the  slide.  Then 
the  chains  were  loosed,  the  wood-hooks  let  go,  and 
the  great  inert  mass  started  slowly  on  its  way.  In 
a  moment  it  gained  impetus,  and  presently  slid 
with  gathering  velocity  down  the  slide  with  a  sin- 
gular rasping  sound  which  rose  to  a  roar  as  it  dis- 
appeared among  the  overgrowths.  As  it  passed 
around  the  curve  a  little  smoke  showed  itself,  and 
then  was  heard  the  plunge  into  the  river. 

"  Why  does  it  make  that  smoke  ?"  said  the  little 
maid,  who  was  mounted  on  Consider's  shoulder, 
acutely  attentive. 

"  It's  friction,"  said  Rollins,  smiling.  "  It  would 
catch  fire  if  we  didn't  look  out." 

"They  have  turned  a  spring  into  the  slide, 
mother,"  said  Paul,  "  half-way  down.  That  keeps 
it  from  burning." 

"  Let  Phely  go  down  on  that,"  said  the  enter- 
prising young  lady. 

The  men  laughed,  and  Rollins  said,  "  Ance  went 
down  on  it  once,  seated  on  a  shovel,  for  a  bet ;  but 
I  guess  he  don't  hanker  after  it  again." 

Ance  grinned:  "Found  it  warm,  like,  I  did. 
That  'ere  shovel  het  up  awful  fast." 


206  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

After  seeing  several  logs  go  down,  Mrs.  Preston 
asked  who  had  conceived  the  idea  of  making  the 
slide.  "  Eiverius  done  it,"  said  Rollins.  "  Said  he 
had  seen  them  in  his  country.  It's  a  great  savin' 
of  cattle."     And  after  this  they  went  home. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

The  summer  from  May  on  had  been  dry.  Rain 
had  once  fallen  in  June,  but  only  once,  and  now 
the  whole  land  was  parched  and  thirsty.  Mid- 
August  came,  and  still  no  rain,  and  the  trees  were 
showing  signs  of  wilting,  while  the  brooks  dried 
up  and  the  wells  gave  out.  The  utmost  alarm 
began  to  be  felt  as  to  fires,  and  no  precautions  were 
thought  too  great  to  provide  against  the  disaster. 
Twice  slight  fires  had  arisen  and  twice  had  been  in 
haste  beaten  out.  As  to  the  summer  crops,  they 
were  ruined,  and  the  parched  earth,  with  wide 
cracks  in  field  and  pasture,  confessed  its  longing 
for  relief. 

As  yet,  despite  his  letter,  Riverius  did  not  come. 

One  evening,  with  Paul,  Bessy  stood  at  the  fence 
back  of  the  house,  contemplating  her  withered 
corn  and  shrivelled  potato-vines.  Suddenly  a  man 
she  did  not  know  said,  "  Evening,  ma'am.  Does 
one  Riverius  live  about  here  ?  I  fetched  his  letters 
from  Olean." 

"He  is  not  here  now,"  said  Bessy;  "but  I  will 
see  that  he  gets  them  when  he  comes." 

"  All  right."  And  he  gave  her  a  bundle  of  papers 
and  letters  wrapped  in  greasy  brown  paper. 

"  Are  there  any  for  me?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Best  to  look." 

u 


208  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

"  Go  to  the  house,  Paul,"  she  said,  "and  give 
the  man  something  to  eat." 

As  they  moved  away,  the  letters  fell  out  of  the 
cover,  and,  gathering  them  up,  Bessy  leaned  on  the 
fence  and  turned  them  over  to  see  if  there  were  one 
for  herself.  "Ah!"  she  said,  surprised.  Usually 
heretofore  all  his  letters  had  been  directed  to  Herr 
Johann  Riverius.  Now  all  were  addressed  "  To 
the  Baron  Johann  Biverius,"  etc. 

"  That  is  it,"  she  said,  with  quick  perception. 
"  His  brother  must  have  died  while  he  was  abroad, 
and  now  he  is  Baron  Riverius."  Did  this  widen 
the  space  between  them  ?  She  knew  well  enough 
how  little  a  title  like  that  meant  in  many  lands, 
and  how  much  it  meant  in  some.  With  all  her 
personal  pride,  she  did  not  untruthfully  estimate  her 
friendless  place  in  existence,  her  poverty,  her  rough 
wood-life,  and  the  effects  against  which  she  strug- 
gled hard  for  both  Paul  and  herself.  She  had  but 
a  broken  life  and  a  burdened  one  to  give.  Did  he 
want  it  at  all  ?  Yes,  it  might  be  so.  Her  womanly 
perceptions  were  delicately  apprehensive.  Had  this 
change  in  his  condition  altered  him  ?  There  might 
be  reasons  for  that  not  altogether  base,  and  her 
early  days  and  strong  good  sense  had  given  her 
power  to  feel  and  know  that  circumstances  might 
make  it  difficult  for  him  to  do  as  he  might  desire. 
Trying  to  reverse  their  respective  situations,  she 
saw  the  matter  still  more  charitably,  even  if  with 
increasing  pain.  And  suppose  it  lay  in  her  power 
to  win  him, — a  gentle  task,  from  which  all  her  pride 
of  character  shrunk, — would  she  do  it ?     "I  could 


FAR  IN   THE  FOREST.  209 

make  him  happy,"  she  said,  aloud.  "  I  could  do 
it.  I  would  be  good  for  him,  too,"  she  said,  ap- 
pealing to  her  reason.  Then  she  rested  her  arms 
on  the  top  rail  of  the  snake  fence  and  leaned  upon 
them  silent.     "  Will  it  ever  be  ?"  she  murmured. 

"  Guten  Abend,  Frau  Preston,"  said  a  familiar 
voice,  and  she  turned  with  a  start,  blushing  an 
honest  red  despite  herself. 

"  I  came  from  Smethport,"  he  added.  "  How 
are  you  ?" 

"  Yery  well,  and  most  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  have  been  long  away, — too  long ;  but  I  had 
much  business." 

"  Come  in  and  have  some  tea." 

"  Gladly.  How  you  are  all  dried  up  !  No  rain, 
I  hear,  and  much  dread  of  fires.  You  should  cut 
that  long  grass.  It  is  gone  worthless,  and  is  too 
near  the  house.  It  would  burn  like  hay.  And  how 
is  my  friend  Paul  ?"     He  was  in  gay  good  humor. 

"Here  are  your  letters,  baron,"  she  said,  de- 
murely. 

"  Ach,  you  know  that !  Well,  I  should  have  told 
you.  My  brother  died,  and  I  am  the  head  of  the 
house.     I  wished  it  never;  but  it  has  come." 

"  And  now  I  suppose  you  will  go  home  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  Yes,  some  time.  I  am  very 
happy  here.  I  do  not  love  place  and  station  and 
the  harder  forms  of  our  social  life.  It  sets  cruel 
limits  at  times  on  one's  will,  and  even  on  one's  just 
desires." 

"  Why  ?"  she  asked,  with  absolute  appearance 
of  innocence. 


210  FAR  IN   THE   FOREST. 

"  I  do  not  mean  that  it  does  imperatively  fetter  a 
man ;  that  depends ;  but  it  may  make  life  difficult. 
That  is  all." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Bessy.  "  I  remember  your 
speaking  of  this  once."  She  was  amazed  at  her 
own  audacity. 

"  And  you  refused  to  help  me." 

"  I  did.  There  are  things  no  man  should  ask 
to  have  decided  for  him." 

"You  are  right.     You  are  always  right." 

And  so  they  went  in,  and  Riverius  was  noisily 
made  welcome  by  Paul,  and  noted  that  the  laurels 
were  finished  and  other  flowers  added.  After  his 
supper  he  asked  leave  to  smoke,  as  usual,  and 
apologized  for  reading  his  letters.  Now  and  then 
he  looked  up  and  said  a  word  or  two.  "  My  vines 
are  doing  well.  We  have  one  of  the  best  vineyards 
in  Saxony.  I  should  like  to  show  you  the  hills  from 
the  garden.  Ach !  and  we  have  had  trouble  with 
the  government  wood-inspectors.  I  wonder  how 
the  Herr  Inspector  would  like  it  here.  And  how 
is  the  quaint  Philetus?" 

She  felt  that  for  the  first  time  he  had  begun  to 
let  her  freely  into  his  life.  She  went  on  sewing 
calmly,  a  flood  of  joy  in  all  her  being. 

"  Philetus  is,  or  was,  better.  He  drinks  less ; 
but  I  do  think  that  he  is  not  quite  right  in  his 
mind." 

"  In  his  mind  ?" 

"Yes.  He  has  what  he  calls  visions;  and,  to 
speak  frankly,  he  has  come  to  regard  you  with  an 
utterly  unreasonable  hatred." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  211 

"I  am  sorry,  but  it  does  not  matter  much.  I 
mean  to  offer  him  a  place  to  oversee  some  wood- 
work at  my  coal-mines  in  Pennsylvania.  It  is 
really  on  account  of  his  wife  and  child,  and  be- 
cause— well " 

"  Well,  because  what  ?" 

"  Oh,  only  that  I  thought  you  would  like  it." 

"  I  should,"  she  said.  "  I  should  like  it  very 
much.  Whether  he  will  or  not  is  hard  to  say.  It 
does  not  appear  to  me  a  very  available  plan.  At 
times  he  seems  to  me  quite  out  of  his  head ;  and 
then  his  blindness.  Here  he  is  at  home  in  the 
woods ;  but  in  a  strange  place  among  new  people 
— it  will  hardly  answer." 

"  I  have  thought  of  all  that,"  he  returned.  "  Of 
course  you  understand  that  I  shall  insist  upon  hav- 
ing Consider  also.  It  would  never  do  to  break  up 
that  queer  partnership." 

"  But  if  the  thing  fails, — if  poor  old  Philetus 
prove  unable  to  do  the  work  you  will  expect, — 
what  then  ?" 

"  What  then  ?  Oh,  I  should  find  some  trifling 
task  for  him  and  regard  him  as  a  pensioner.  The 
thing  is  to  get  him  away  from  that  drunken  brute 
Ance.  My  plan  may  fail,  but  I  mean  to  give  them 
a  chance.  Change  may  help  him,  and  with  Con- 
sider to  aid  him  I  fancy  that  he  will  be  quite  able 
to  do  what  little  I  shall  want.  At  all  events,  we 
will  try." 

"  We,"  thought  Bessy. 

"Besides,"  he  added,  gayly,  "  I  have  to  begin  to 
pay  my  debts  to  you.     I  am  still  reasonably  honest. 


212  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Oh,  I  am  in  earnest,"  he  added,  watching  her  face. 
"  It  is  serious." 

"  That  is  forbidden  ground,"  said  Bessy.  "  Par- 
don me,  but  it  seems  to  me  ignoble  to  be  unable  to 
accept  a  benefit  without  feeling  it  constantly  as  a 
debt;  and — and  do  you  think  that  in  my  solitary 
life  your  constant  kindness,  your  thoughtful  friend- 
liness, have  been  nothing  ?" 

"  That  is  more  debt,"  he  said,  laughing. 

"  Let  us  drop  the  subject.  Your  scheme  for 
Philetus  seems  to  me  kind.  It  may  answer,  al- 
though, as  I  said,  I  have  my  fears.  Whether  or 
not  he  will  accept  is,  as  I  suspect,  rather  doubtful. 
He  is  working  here  still ;  and  perhaps  if  you  could 
manage  to  see  Miriam  first  it  might  be  the  better 
way."  She  hesitated  to  advise  it,  but  then  it  would 
be  only  for  this  once. 

"  I  will  go  to-morrow.  I  have  the  book  for  you. 
It  is  only  a  record  of  scientific  travel  in  South 
America."  Then  he  rose.  "It  is  early,  but  I 
am  tired."  And  he  looked  around  him.  "  How 
pleasant  to  be  here  again  !" 

"  You  must  miss  the  vineyards." 

"  Himmel !  I  wish  they  were  under  the  sea,  and 
the  old  castle  and  all.     Gute  Nacht." 

Bessy  sat  still  and  worked  on,  smiling  a  little  to 
herself  at  times,  and  happier  than  she  had  been 
for  many  a  day. 

It  is  sometimes  fortunate  when  love  is  introduced 
by  friendship.  If  love  be  blind,  friendship,  the 
true  friendship  of  large  natures,  is  not,  and  may 
be  the  firmest  basis  in  matured  persons  for  that 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  213 

relation  which  is  supposed  to  make  keenness  of 
mental  vision  impossible.  Soon  or  late  the  best  love 
must  include  a  friendship  as  honest  and  respectful. 
The  friendship  of  man  and  woman  has  been  much 
discussed,  and  as  much  doubted,  nor  is  it  in  its 
fulness  with  the  young  a  very  frequently  possible 
relation ;  yet  for  those  past  their  first  youth  it  has 
or  may  have  qualities  which  give  it  values  far  be- 
yond a  like  tie  between  two  of  one  sex.  The 
woman  friend  must  always  feel  some  of  the  limita- 
tions which  are  imposed  by  her  sex  and  from  which 
she  can  never  wholly  free  herself;  but  for  the  man 
her  friend  the  bond  has  availabilities  which  no  such 
relation  to  one  of  his  own  sex  can  give.  There  goes 
with  it  a  possibility  of  confessing  the  delicacies  of 
sentiment  which  he  never  inclines  to  lay  open  to  his 
fellow-man.  There  are  things  he  may  wish  to  say 
at  which  the  man  may  smile,  but  which  to  the 
woman  are  serious, — things  as  to  which  the  friendly 
masculine  is  cool  or  which  he  regards  but  lightly. 
The  men  whose  characters  include  certain  feminine 
characteristics  by  no  means  unworthy  of  the  high- 
est male  creations  are  rare,  but  give  us,  when  they 
do  exist,  the  noblest  types  of  capacity  for  the  fullest 
friendship.  The  man  wTho  has  no  woman  friend  is 
unfortunate,  and  lacks  a  part  of  that  breadth  of 
relation  to  his  kind  which  liberal-minded  men  in- 
stinctively crave. 

Yery  early  in  their  acquaintance  Riverius  had 
once  said  to  Bessy  carelessly  that  some  kind  of 
love-ties  are  commonplace  possibilities,  but  that 
capacity  for  friendship  in  its  loftier  range  is  the 


214  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

rarer  gift,  and  that  no  one  makes  a  good  friend  to 
another  who  is  not  a  true  friend  to  himself.  She 
had  smiled,  only  half  understanding  him.  Now 
she  understood  better.  She  had  the  gift,  rare  to 
passionate  natures,  of  being  able  to  stand  aloof 
from  her  own  feelings  and  to  use  her  reason  as  she 
might  have  done  that  of  a  friend,  and  at  present 
through  her  own  self-knowledge  she  comprehended 
in  a  measure  the  man  to  whom  she  felt  that  she 
had  given  her  unasked  love.  It  was  natural  to 
Bessy  Preston  to  feel  that  the  nobleness  of  giving 
implied  obligation  to  give.  "When  this  man  fell  at 
her  door,  and  she  had  recalled  him  to  life,  she  had 
pledged  herself  to  an  interest  in  what  she  had 
given.  It  is  easier  to  give  anew  when  one  has  once 
given  than  to  give  at  first.  As  time  went  by,  Eive- 
rius  stood  all  the  tests  which  an  awkward  situation 
and  unusual  conditions  applied  before  the  vision  of 
a  woman  clear-sighted  and  thoughtfully  on  guard. 
His  reticence  as  to  himself  would  have  annoyed 
some  women.  It  pleased  her.  His  indisposition 
to  talk  of  himself  she  respected.  He  leaped  no 
bounds  abruptly,  yet  somehow  each  month  she 
knew  him  better,  and  came  at  last  to  understand 
him  as  women  do  at  times  come  to  understand  men. 
His  faults  she  saw,  therefore, — his  too  sure  trust 
in  himself,  and  the  pride  which  made  it  hard  for 
him  to  receive  with  gracious  acceptance  and  easy 
for  him  to  give  generously.  His  intellectual  con- 
tempt of  the  vague  or  pretentious  she  disliked,  as 
needless,  but  the  role  of  his  better  qualities  her 
head  had  taught  her  heart,  and  thus,  clear  of  brain 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  215 

and  lovingly  generous,  she  gave  him,  slowly,  re- 
spect, admiration,  friendship,  and  at  last  knew  of 
a  sudden  that  she  had  been  too  prodigal  and  had 
given  her  love.  At  first  this  had  made  her  un- 
happy, but  of  late  she  was  anything  but  this.  She 
felt,  however,  a  growing  need  for  self-control. 
She  mistrusted  the  stormy  passion  of  which  she 
knew  herself  to  be  capable,  and  acknowledged 
with  a  wild  joy  that  she  was  competent  to  love 
with  such  energy  and  intensity  as  once  would  have 
seemed  to  her  impossible.  Many  such  thoughts 
haunted  her  that  night.  At  last  she  recalled  some 
things  which  made  her  resolute  that  Paul  should 
go  with  Riverius  to  Richmond's  cabin.  Accord- 
ingly, she  asked  the  lad  on  the  following  morning 
to  take  to  Miriam  a  small  basket  with  some  trifles 
which  she  had  commissioned  the  German  to  buy 
for  her. 

While  Paul  filled  his  basket  in  the  house,  she 
stood  outside  at  the  door  with  Riverius.  Chatting 
gayly,  she  trimmed  the  climbing  roses  and  clipped 
off*  the  dead  leaves.  Her  graciousness  of  move- 
ment was  seen  to  full  advantage.  Fuller  health 
had  given  her  breadth  and  color,  and  the  riper 
curves  of  neck  and  chest  suggested  vigorous  youth. 
There  was,  as  he  saw  her,  a  dignified  calmness  in 
all  her  simplest  acts  which  was  typical  of  the 
woman's  character.  Riverius  looked  at  her  gravely, 
but  with  a  keen  sense  of  the  mysterious  changes 
which  a  little  time  had  wrought.  The  traditions 
and  prejudices  of  a  life  were  crumbling  in  his  joy- 
fully-troubled soul,  and  he  knew  it.     As  she  lifted 


216  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

both  hands  to  seize  a  branch,  the  noble  vase-like 
curves  of  chest  and  bust  startled  him,  and  the  faint 
vertigo  of  intoxicated  senses  overcame  him  for  a 
moment.  The  feeling  of  weakness — and  he  dis- 
liked all  such  indications  of  want  of  self-control — 
did  nevertheless  please  him.  He  laughed  aloud; 
and  he  had  the  rare  and  gentle  art  of  laughing  well. 

"  What  amuses  you  ?"  she  said,  without  turning 
her  head. 

"  Oh,  nothing." 

"  Then  you  are  delightfully  easy  to  amuse.  I 
used  to  wonder  that  you  laughed  so  little;  but  I 
really  think  that  you  are  improving, — absolutely 
improving." 

"  There  is  room  in  many  ways."  She  made  no 
answer.  "  What  do  you  think  ?"  he  added.  "  Am 
I  very  naughty  ?" 

"  Well,  they  say  so  hereabouts." 

"  Oh,  they  say  so.  Do  you  suppose  I  care,  un- 
less  " 

"But  you  should.  That  is  one  of  your  faults. 
There,  you  wanted  to  know.  How  these  thorns 
prickle !" 

"  You  mean  that  I  do  not  enough  consider  the 
opinions  of  men.     Was  that  it  ?" 

"  No,  you  do  not,  if  they  are  socially  beneath 
you.  As  to  how  it  is  with  others,  your  equals,  I 
do  not  know.     I  have  no  chance  of  knowing." 

"  And  yet  you  are  my  equal." 

"  Am  I?  You  are  very  good.  I  always  thought 
I  was  your  superior."  And  she  smiled  over  her 
shoulder. 


FAR  IN   THE  FOREST.  217 

"You  are,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  And  how  ?     That  is  interesting." 

"  I  will  tell  you.  I  am  more  unreserved  than 
you.     I  do  not  at  all  mind  telling  you." 

"  Well  ?"  Her  heart  beat  joyous  music  in  her 
breast.  She  liked  the  light  talk  and  pretty  little 
play  at  confessions,  "  the  marge  of  perils  sweet." 

"You  are  unprejudiced,  and  I  am  full  of  preju- 
dices.    You  are  frank  and  unsuspicious." 

"  Ah  !"  she  murmured. 

«  I  am " 

"Pardon  me,  I  did  not  ask  for  a  comparative 
statement  of  vices  and  virtues." 

"  But,  being  penitent,  as  you  see,  I  am  disposed 
to  confess." 

"  I  do  not  like  confessions." 

"  ETo." 

"  But  I  can  stand  any  amount  of  abuse." 

"  And  that  I  am  incapable  of." 

"Yes,  I  always  thought  your  character  rather 
defective.  If  you  had  been  a  reasonably  consti- 
tuted man,  you  would  not  have  watched  me  for 
five  minutes  trying  to  seize  this  branch,  when  with 
the  least  exertion " 

"  And  you  want  it  badly  ?" 

"  Dreadfully." 

"  What  will  you  give  to  have  it  ?"  The  way,  the 
tones,  the  playfulness,  were  all  unlike  the  man. 

"  I  do  not  want  it,"  she  said.  "  It  is  the  part 
of  wisdom  to  abandon  vain  efforts." 

"  Ach  !  not  whenever  I  saw  Mrs.  Preston.  You 
should  have  been  a  man," 


213  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

"  I  wish  I  were  !" 

"Why?" 

"  I  would  get  that  branch." 

"  I  thought  you  had  given  it  up." 

"  Please  to  get  it." 

"If  you  will  give  me  the  rose  I  see  on  the 
tip." 

"  I  will  give  you  this  bud." 

"  No,  I  want  the  rose." 

"  But  why  ?" 

"  A  bud  is  incomplete." 

A  slight  womanly  mutiny  arose  in  her  mind. 
"  You  cannot  have  it,"  she  said.  "  The  bud  or 
nothing." 

"  Then  nothing,'  he  returned,  and,  reaching  up, 
drew  down  the  branch. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  faintly. 

He  returned,  gravely,  "  Perhaps  you  repent.  I 
would  wish  that  you  do  repent." 

"I  have  not  been  wicked  enough. — Ah,  Paul, 
have  you  all  the  things  ?" 

He  said  he  was  sure,  and,  with  Eiverius,  who 
was  suddenly  serious  and  silent,  walked  across  the 
clearing.  They  were  a  hundred  yards  away,  and 
she  watched  them, — shall  we  say  him  ?  "  Ah," 
she  cried.  "  I  should  be  ashamed  of  myself!  I 
have  been,  I  have  been — silly  ?  But  how  pleasant 
it  was!"  Then  she  looked  again.  They  were  in 
the  woods.  He  seemed  to  her  to  be  going  away, 
away  from  her,  and  a  flood  of  passionate  blood 
surged  hotly  to  her  temples  and  overcame  her. 
"Paul!"  she  cried,  "Paul!" 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  219 

He  came  back  in  haste,  while  Riverius  stayed 
leaning  against  a  tree-trunk,  deep  in  thought. 

"  She  loves  me.  Why  did  she  play  with  me  ? 
Surely  she  knew." 

In  a  moment  or  two  Paul  returned.  "  I  don't 
see  why  mother  forgets  so  lately.  She  wanted  to 
send  some  flowers  to  Miriam  Richmond,  and  she 
said  I  was  to  give  you  this  one.  I  don't  see  what 
a  man  wants  a  rose  for." 

Riverius  took  the  rose.  It  was  full-blown.  He 
turned  and  looked  back,  a  morning  dawn  of  joy 
in  his  face.  Bessy  was  gone.  She  was  seated  in 
the  painted  room.  "  How  could  I  do  it  ?"  she  said. 
Meanwhile,  Riverius  strode  along  in  silence.  He 
had  not  counted  on  this  abrupt  surrender,  but  he 
did  not  undervalue  the  sacrifice  it  must  have  cost 
her  pride.  He  knew  that  only  of  late  had  he  been 
able  to  set  aside  the  doubts  and  difficulties  made  for 
him  by  education  and  traditions,  and  he  could  not 
know  how  long  it  was  since  Bessy  had  learned  with 
a  certain  dread  that  her  heart  had  been  given  in 
advance.  But  now  the  benediction  of  a  frank  and 
noble  love  was  on  him.  He  smiled  scornfully,  re- 
membering the  barriers  he  had  set  in  his  own  way. 
The  sense  of  deep  humility  which  goes  with  worthy 
loving  came  over  him,  and  he  walked  on  reflecting 
what  now  life  ought  to  be.  At  last  Paul's  talk, 
which  usually  he  liked,  annoyed  him,  and  he  said, 
"  Could  you  go  to  my  wood-camp  and  ask  James 
to  come  over  to-night?" 

"  All  right,"  said  the  boy ;  "  but  you  will  have 
to  carry  the  basket  and  these  roses." 


220  FAR   IN   THE  FOREST. 

"  I  will  see  that  they  get  there  safe.  Tell  your 
mother  1  sent  you  to  camp.  I  shall  be  at  home  by 
supper-time." 

Alone  and  happy  in  the  uninterrupted  opportu- 
nity to  think,  Riverius  went  on,  and  an  hour  later 
entered  Richmond's  cabin.  It  is  quite  certain  that 
happiness  agrees  with  some  people,  and  that  to 
some  misfortune  is  surely  productive  of  moral  in- 
digestion. Riverius  was  not  a  man  easily  swayed 
by  external  circumstance,  good  or  bad.  But  what 
had  overcome  him  now  was  a  novel  experience  in 
his  life,  and  affected  him  as  great  physical  influ- 
ences affect  the  material  world,  causing  dislocations 
and  rearrangements,  shattering,  dissolving,  dis- 
placing, seeming  to  confuse.  By  and  by  in  either 
case  there  come  tranquillity,  and  permanent  or 
temporary  results  according  to  the  nature  of  the 
thing  disturbed.  Just  now  his  answered  love  was 
to  Riverius  like  sudden  sunshine  to  a  waiting  world 
of  ready  spring-time  things.  Bessy  had  sped  him 
on  an  errand  of  mercy.  It  should  be  done  with 
flavor  of  her  liberal  graciousness.  He  liked  the 
idea,  and  played  with  it  pleasantly. 


CHAPTER    XYIT. 

As  Riverius  drew  near  the  cabin,  Mrs.  Richmond 
came  to  the  door.  He  was  struck  with  her  look  of 
worry,  and,  as  always,  with  the  large-limbed  robust- 
ness of  the  woman,  and  wondered  a  moment  how 
she  and  the  rugged  blind  man  could  have  been 
the  parents  of  the  finely-made,  quick-witted  child 
who  appeared  of  a  sudden  beside  her. 

"  When  did  you  come,  Mr.  Riverius  ?"  said 
Miriam. 

"Last  night." 

"  Oh !  that  is  why  Philetus  didn't  happen  to  tell 
me." 

"  He  does  not  know  of  my  return.  I  have  not 
seen  him." 

Turning,  Miriam  glanced  hastily  at  the  small 
noisy  Yankee  clock  on  the  wall.  It  was  but  a  little 
after  nine.  No  one — certainly  not  Philetus — was 
likely  to  appear  before  noon.  She  might  feel  at 
ease. 

Said  Ophelia,  promptly,  "  You  got  something  in 
that  basket  for  Phely.  What  you  got  in  that  basket 
for  Phely  ?     Give  me  some  roses." 

"  The  roses  are  for  your  mother,  from  Mrs. 
Preston.  There  is  a  doll  for  you,  and  a  little  book." 
Here  he  produced  these  articles,  to  which  for  the 
time  Ophelia  paid  not  the  least  attention. 

"  What  else  you  got  there  ?"     When  she  found 


222  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

there  were  no  other  matters  of  possible  interest,  she 
sat  down  and  submitted  the  new  doll  to  an  accurate 
anatomical  study. 

"She  has  one  leg  longer  than  the  other.  What 
color  are  her  eyes,  Mr.  Riverius  V 

The  baron  was  much  amused.  "  She  must  have 
some  French  blood,"  he  said.  "  Let  her  go  away 
for  a  little ;  or  shall  we  walk  outside  ?  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  of  some  business  matters  best  to  be 
discussed  alone."  The  fair  Ophelia  understood  at 
once  that  she  was  to  be  separated  for  a  time  from 
her  audience. 

"  Phely  quite  comf 'able,"  she  said.  "  Phely 
wants  to  stay  inside." 

"  Take  the  doll  and  the  book  and  go  down  to 
your  baby-house  and  stay  until  I  call  you,"  said 
Miriam.  "  Until  I  call  you.  Do  you  hear, 
Ophelia?" 

The  young  person  searched  a  moment  Mrs. 
Richmond's  troubled  face,  and  concluded  to  obey, 
being  well  aware  that  in  certain  of  her  mother's 
moods  of  late  the  large  hands  had  been  apt  to  be 
unpleasant.  "  Phely  will  pound  the  doll  with  a 
stone  if  she  don't  say  her  lessons,"  returned  the 
maid,  with  a  defiant  air. 

"  Out  with  you  !  You  just  try  any  such  naughty 
tricks  !     And  don't  you  come  till  I  call." 

The  mutinous,  pretty  little  creature  went  down 
the  slope,  and  at  the  far  corner  of  the  clearing 
seated  herself  by  a  miniature  cabin,  the  gift  of 
Consider  Kinsman.  Here,  under  the  shade  of  a 
great  maple,  she  was  soon  busy  presenting  to  the 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  223 

new  doll  a  headless  sister  and  a  collection  of  snail- 
shells,  stones,  broken  china,  and  corn-cobs.  Mean- 
while, Mrs.  Richmond  dusted  with  her  apron  a 
chair  for  her  guest,  and  then  sat  down  to  talk  with 
him. 

"  I  have  to  be  sharp  with  her  sometimes,  she's 
that  persistent ;  and  as  to  talking  before  her  about 
anything  you  don't  want  known  to  anybody  else, 
you  might  just  as  well  tell  it  yourself." 

"  I  have  nothing  very  serious  to  say;  but,  on  the 
whole,  I  did  think  it  well  to  be  alone  with  you. 
Eeally  it  mattered  little." 

"She'll  stay  now  till  I  call  her.  What's  the 
matter?  Anything  wrong?"  Poor  Miriam  was 
in  such  a  hopeless  state  of  mind  that  any  good  news 
seemed  to  her  improbable. 

"  I  came  over  here  to  see  you  because  I  want  you 
and  Philetus  to  go  and  live  on  some  lands  of  mine 
in  the  coal-country  near  Pottsville." 

«  But " 

"  Wait  a  little,  until  I  am  through.  I  shall  expect 
your  husband  to  look  after  my  lumber  interests, 
and  before  long  to  attend  to  other  duties  connected 
with  a  mine  I  am  opening.  He  will  have  a  house, 
and  be  paid,  I  should  say,  about  ^ve  times  his 
present  wages.  Then  there  is  a  school  quite  near, 
and  Pottsville  not  far  away,  and  neighbors  close 
by." 

"  Mr.  Riverius !" 

"  One  moment.  I  know  that  Philetus  is  not 
well.  I  know  that  to  get  him  away  from  Ance 
Vickers  is  his  only  chance ;  and  it  seemed — well, 

15 


224  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

it  seemed  best  to  Mrs.  Preston  that  I  saw  you  first. 
If  I  were  to  talk  to  Philetus  he  would  not  under- 
stand me.  At  least  that  might  be  the  case.  This 
is  all  I  have  to  say." 

To  his  surprise,  she  made  no  reply,  but  sat  look- 
ing out  of  the  open  door,  some  unusual  twitching 
movements  about  the  chin,  her  eyes  filling  too  fast 
for  natural  drainage.  Then  came  an  outburst  of 
sobbing,  her  face  in  her  apron,  the  large,  bare  white 
arms  shaking  with  the  convulsive  motions  of  the 
head  her  hands  sustained. 

"  I  ain't — used — to  kindness — not — from  men. 
I  thank — thank  you.  Do — don't — think  I  don't 
thank  you." 

The  German  looked  aside  out  into  the  sunshine. 
There  was  something  uncomfortable  about  his 
throat.  "  Ach,  Himmel  !"  he  said,  aloud.  "  Don't 
cry.     What  is  it  to  make  a  fuss  for  ?" 

By  this  time  Miriam  had  rubbed  her  face  red 
and  searched  out  the  moisture  in  the  corners  of 
her  eyes  and  set  her  features  in  order. 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  sir.  I  haven't  cried,  not 
that  way,  for  many  a  day.  There  is  crying  that 
blesses,  and  crying  that  curses,  and — and " 

"  Please  don't  begin  again,"  said  Riverius,  with 
all  of  a  man's  utter  helplessness  before  a  tearful 
face. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  want  to  do  it.  He — well, 
there's  no  use  in  hiding  it,  he  hates  you.  I  don't 
want  to  have  you  making  him  this  offer  and  you 
not  know  that." 

"  But  I  do  know  it." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  225 

"  Then  you  ain't  like  other  men,  that's  all  I've 
got  to  say." 

The  pride  that  made  the  husband's  dislike  seem 
to  him  but  a  trifle  Miriam  could  not  have  under- 
stood, nor  altogether  Riverius's  desire  to  help  the 
weak  who  are  in  trouble  through  no  wrong  of  their 
own  doing,  nor  also  his  other  motives.  As  to  the 
German  himself,  it  was  but  a  small  matter,  and  he 
was  getting  more  thanks  and  more  affluence  of 
admiration  than  he  relished. 

"  Mrs.  Preston  thought  I  had  best  see  you  about 
it." 

"  Oh !"  exclaimed  Miriam,  smiling  a  little. 
"  Guess  I'll  thank  Mrs.  Preston  when  I  see  her. 
You're  a  good  man,  Mr.  Riverius,  and  you  just 
hate  to  be  told  it." 

"  Oh,  don't !"  said  Riverius. 

"  It's  no  use.  You've  got  to  take  it.  When  you 
shake  an  apple-tree  and  the  pippins  come  a-tumbling 
down  on  your  head  you  'ain't  any  reason  to  com- 
plain. The  quality  of  your  mercy  ain't  strained,  or 
it  ain't  strained  through  a  fine  sieve.     I " 

The  German  held  up  a  hand  of  appeal,  shaking 
his  head  the  while. 

"  Keep  the  rest  for  Mrs.  Preston.  I  must  go. 
"When  you  have  seen  Philetus,  if  he  is  at  all  reason- 
able, we  can  talk  it  over  as  to  details.  Oh !  and 
tell  him  I  will  take  Consider  also.  I  forgot  that. 
It  is  essential.  Good-by."  And  he  put  out  his 
hand.  She  had  a  wish  to  kiss  it.  How  could  she 
show  the  gratitude  with  which  her  soul  was  full  ? 
Philetus  would  not  like  that.      She  dropped   the 


226  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

hand,  stood  before  him,  tall,  shapely,  pure  white 
and  red,  with  the  look  of  woman  strength  in  hip 
and  chest,  like  some  largely-modelled  caryatid. 

"  God  bless  you !"  she  said.  "  God  thank  you ! 
I  cannot;  I  know,  I  know.     God  bless  you  both  !" 

He  only  smiled,  lifted  his  cap  courteously  as  to 
a  lady  of  his  own  rank,  and,  turning,  walked  down 
the  hill  and  was  soon  lost  to  her  view  in  the  trees 
as  she  stood  and  watched  him.  Then  she  too 
turned  and  went  into  the  house  and  fell  on  her 
knees  and  prayed  God  with  thankfulness  as  she 
had  been  unable  to  do  for  many  a  day.  When  she 
rose,  more  composed,  the  little  maid  was  still  out 
of  her  thoughts.  By  and  by  the  mother  glanced 
through  a  window,  and  saw  her  going  to  and  fro, 
busy  in  a  little  world  of  her  own  creation.  Miriam 
took  a  jacket  of  Phil's,  and,  sitting  down,  began  to 
sew,  and  also,  thus  aided,  to  think,  as  women  will 
at  their  work.  Would  Philetus  accept?  Oh,  he 
must.  And  why  was  he  so  strange  about  Riverius 
and  so  careless  about  Ance  ?  She  profoundly  ad- 
mired the  manly  German  gentleman,  but  she  had 
always  been  a  woman  above  reproach,  and  of  late 
had  been  very  careful  never  even  to  mention  his 
name ;  yet  the  visions  continued,  and  her  husband 
had  been  wandering  in  speech  at  times,  talking  as 
if  in  his  blindness  the  German  had  been  hiding 
near  the  cabin.  What  did  it  all  mean  ?  She  could 
not  understand  it.  But  now  she  must  speak  out, 
and  make  Philetus  comprehend  that  the  man  was 
his  friend  and  had  never  been  other  than  just.  She 
rose  to  call  the  child. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  227 

At  this  moment  a  shadow  fell  through  the  door- 
way.  She  leaped  to  her  feet  as  Anson  Yickers 
entered.  "  What  do  you  want  ?"  she  cried,  fiercely. 
"I  told  you  yesterday  I  would  tell  Phil  if  you 
came  again.     Begone,  I  say !     Go  !" 

"  I  won't  hurt  you,"  he  said.  "  Lord,  but  you're 
a  beauty !  Come,  let's  talk  a  little.  You  be  quiet, 
now,  and  I  won't  say  nuthin'  'bout  that  ther'  Ry- 
verus.  Guess  ef  Phil  knowed  how  long  he  stayed 
here  to-day,  he'd  wish  he'd  a  pair  of  eyes  to  lay 
along  a  rifle-sight.  He's  a  nice-lookin'  man,  that 
German." 

If  he  meant  to  scare  her  he  was  sadly  astray. 
A  fury  of  rage,  of  ungovernable  anger,  arose  within 
her.  Gratitude,  respect,  sense  of  repeated  insult, 
lent  it  fuel. 

"  You  spy !  you  devil !"  she  cried ;  "  you  fiery 
beast,  with  your  lying  whiskey-fed  tongue  !"  She 
turned  aside  with  a  swift  motion,  caught  Phil's 
rifle,  which  she  knew  well  how  to  use,  cocked  it, 
and,  covering  the  amazed  and  now  furious  man, 
"  Out,  out,  dog !"  she  screamed,  "  or  I  will  kill 
you !" 

Ance  was  courageous  and  unpractised  in  fear. 
A  certain  look  of  fascination  lit  up  his  bleared 
eyes  and  to  the  woman's  instinctive  appreciations 
coarsely  spoke  of  horrible  peril.  She  had  never 
realized  it  as  now.  It  disturbed  her  visibly.  In 
an  instant,  stooping  quickly  to  avoid  the  shot,  he 
rose,  seizing  her  hand  and  tearing  it  from  the  trig- 
ger. As  he  fell  back,  the  rifle  in  his  grasp,  she 
caught  at  the  barrel,  and  struggled  while  he  strove 


228  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

to  wrench  the  weapon  from  her.  She  cried  aloud 
for  help,  and  only  the  distant  child,  hearing  faintly, 
listened  undisturbed  and  then  went  on  with  her 
play.  The  powerful  woman  was  no  easy  prey. 
At  last, 'cursing,  he  tore  the  weapon  from  her 
hands,  which  slid  in  wild  vain  effort  along  the 
smooth  barrel.  The  trigger  caught  on  some  part 
of  Yickers's  coat.  There  was  a  sudden  explosion, 
a  smoke,  silence,  a  staggering  reeling  thing  before 
his  eyes,  a  heavy  fall,  and  Ance  recoiled,  seeing  on 
the  floor  her  tall,  large  form,  the  face  whitening, 
a  quick  red  stream  leaping  in  jets  from  the  neck 
and  spraying  the  nail-dented  boards  of  the  floor. 
His  eyes  opened  wide,  his  jaw  fell.  Then  of  a  sud- 
den he  dropped  the  weapon,  knelt,  tore  off  her 
white  apron,  and  tried  to  stanch  the  merciless  flow 
which  soaked  it.  It  was  vain.  The  ball  had  gone 
upwards  through  the  brain,  cutting  a  large  artery 
in  the  neck.  He  ceased,  stood  up,  and  knew  that 
it  was  useless.  As  he  looked,  her  lips  stirred. 
Her  round  white  arms  twitched.  Something  like 
a  strange  smile  convulsed  her  face,  and  all  was  still 
in  the  cabin  except  the  click,  cluck  of  the  wooden 
clock  on  the  wall.  Of  a  sudden  he  became  afraid. 
Before  that  he  had  been  simply  shocked.  The 
change  from  the  noble,  amply-modelled  woman,  all 
life  and  rage,  who  had  aroused  his  worst  passions, 
to  the  white  inert  mass  on  the  floor,  had  at  first  for 
him  the  amazement  of  a  miracle.  But  now  he  was 
afraid.  He  backed  slowly  to  the  door,  then,  still 
watching  her,  stooped  to  pluck  his  straw  hat  from 
the  floor,  glanced  around,  saw  no  one,  and  suddenly 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  229 

ran,  like  a  beast  pursued,  down  the  hill  and  into  the 
woods.  After  a  half-hour  he  sat  down,  exhausted, 
by  a  brook,  and  for  the  first  time  became  capable  of 
thought  after  his  kind.  Before  this  he  may  be  said 
to  have  merely  felt  the  emotions  of  astonishment 
and  sorrow,  and  at  last  of  pure  terror.  At  length 
he  had  come  to  a  sense  of  personal  danger.  Look- 
ing about  him,  he  became  suddenly  aware  that  he 
had  still  in  his  left  hand  Miriam's  apron  red  with 
blood.  He  placed  the  rolled  garment  in  the  brook, 
covering  it  with  a  large  stone  which  he  lifted  from 
the  bed  of  the  stream.  Then  he  washed  his  hands 
and  coat  with  care,  and,  standing  up,  followed  with 
his  eyes  the  faint  stains  in  the  slow  current  until 
they  were  lost  to  view.  After  this  he  turned  and 
walked  slowly  until  he  came  to  his  lonely  cabin 
on  the  far  slope  of  Laurel  Mountain.  He  entered 
it,  shut  the  door,  and  sat  down  on  a  rough  settle. 
His  lack  of  imagination  spared  him  some  forms  of 
mental  distress.  The  refinements  of  self-torture 
he  escaped.  The  extremity  of  pure  fear  at  times 
returned,  and  he  groaned  aloud,  but  of  the  child 
and  helpless  blind  Philetus  he  thought  but  vaguely. 
He  had,  however,  a  shameful  sense  of  having  hurt 
a  woman,  and  yet  knew  that  as  far  as  intention  was 
concerned  he  would  as  lief  have  killed  himself.  Of 
that  self  as  a  creator  of  the  causes  which  led  to  her 
death  he  also  failed  to  take  cognizance.  Withal 
there  was  a  dreadful  confusion  about  it  in  his  brain, 
long  weakened  by  drink,  so  that  at  times  it  was  all 
dull  and  indistinct  to,  him.  Simple,  brutal,  with 
only  a  redeeming  love  of  fair  play,  he  had  never 


230  FAR  IN  THE  FOBEST. 

been  known  to  use  a  knife  or  to  take  a  revenge  save 
in  the  way  of  a  direct  personal  contest,  and,  al- 
though feared  for  his  great  strength  and  courage, 
was  on  the  whole  liked  as  a  rough,  generous  man 
who  used  no  base  advantages.  He  took  a  long 
drink  of  whiskey  and  walked  about  restlessly.  It 
was  clear  even  to  his  slow  mind  that  flight  was  vain 
and  likely  to  result  in  capture,  and  what  would  come 
after  he  also  understood.  Moreover,  to  fly  was  to 
fix  suspicion;  and  how  now  could  any  one  think 
of  him  as  guilty  ?  He  knew  that  he  must  as  soon 
as  possible  face  his  fellows,  and  again  and  again  said 
to  himself  that  it  was  just  an  accident.  But  then 
what  right  had  he  to  be  there  ?  He  was  not  so  stupid 
as  not  to  know  what  sinful  temptation  took  him  to 
his  comrade's  cabin.  Except  the  habitual  pride  in 
his  reputation  for  fair  play,  which  worked  for  good, 
he  had  few  possibilities  of  gentle  development  save 
the  one  which  might  have  come  to  him  from  the  love 
of  a  woman.  That  she  had  been  in  an  evil  sense 
unattainable  had  set  her  away  from  him  for  all  pos- 
sible kindly  helpfulness  in  life.  Take,  in  the  arith- 
metic of  being,  what  we  can  get  from  what  we 
want,  and  the  remainder  is  often  that  despair  which 
arrests  the  honest  and  sets  the  sensual  fool  stagger- 
ing along  the  road  to  crime. 

The  coarse  animal,  now  a  little  revived  by  drink, 
had  a  wild  impulse  to  go  back  and  see  the  thing  he 
had  loved  or  craved  and  killed.  But  dread  for 
himself,  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  was  dom- 
inant, and  increasingly  so  as  the  hours  went  by. 
Remorse,  the  torture  of  the   imaginative,  he  had 


FAR  m  THE  FOREST.  231 

not,  only  fear,  sense  of  shame,  of  loss,  of  stupid 
regret.  He  drank  again,  and,  going  out,  took  the 
road  to  Rollins's  camp,  where  two  or  three  men 
were  arranging  sleds  and  cabin  for  the  winter  tree- 
falling.  It  was  now  afternoon,  and  getting  towards 
dusk.  As  the  shadows  lengthened,  he  began  to 
desire  company  of  man,  and  moved  along  more 
rapidly. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

On  his  homeward  way,  Paul  wandered  somewhat 
in  search  of  squirrels,  and  about  noon,  beginning 
to  feel  hungry,  struck  across  the  woods  for  home 
and  dinner.  On  his  way  he  came  upon  Philetus 
at  his  work  and  about  to  leave  for  Mrs.  Preston's 
on  a  like  errand. 

"Halloo,  Phil,"  said  the  boy.  "I've  got  eight 
squirrels.  Here's  four  for  Myry."  And  he  laid 
them  by  the  old  man's  coat. 

"  Whar  have  you  bin  ?"  said  Philetus. 

"Well,  I  started  out  with  Mr.  Riverius  to  go 
over  to  your  house  with  a  lot  of  things  he  brought 
mother  for  your  folks,  and " 

"  Whar's  he  gone  now?"  returned  the  woodman, 
abruptly,  turning  his  large  useless  eyes  on  Paul. 

"  Oh,  he  sent  me  over  to  camp  and  took  the 
things  himself." 

"  And  he's  went  thar  alone  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"Consider!  Whar's  Consider?  Do  you  see 
him?  Ef  you  see  Consider,  tell  him  I've  gone 
home.     He'll  foller  me  ef  you  tell  him." 

"  I  don't  see  him." 

"  Set  me  in  the  ox-road,  Paul.  I'm  that  dazed 
to-day." 

Paul  took  his  hand  and  led  him  a  rod  to  left, 
a  little  puzzled,  because,  as  a  rule,  Philetus  was 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  233 

strangely  competent  to  find  his  way.  "  You've 
left  your  hat  and  coat  and  the  squirrels,"  said  Paul. 
"I'll  get  them  for  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Philetus. 

When  Paul  came  back,  the  man  had  gone.  The 
boy  saw  his  broad  shoulders  at  a  distance,  and 
called  after  him,  but  got  no  response.  He  stood 
in  astonishment.  "Well,  that  is  queer,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I'll  take  them  home."  And,  so  say- 
ing, he  slung  the  garment  on  his  arm,  put  the  hat 
on  top  of  his  own,  and,  shouldering  the  wood- 
man's axe  and  his  own  rifle,  went  away  wondering. 

"  Philetus  has  gone  home  and  left  his  things, 
mother,"  he  said  as  he  entered  the  cabin.  "  I  don't 
know  what's  wrong  with  him.  He's  getting  to 
be  very  queer."  Then  he  told  how  Riverius  had 
sent  him  (Paul)  to  the  camp.  "  He  didn't  want  to 
talk,  mother.  Mostly  he  likes  it.  I  think  he  is  as 
queer  as  Philetus." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  go  with  him,  as  I  told 
you?" 

"  How  could  I?  He  said  it  was  important  to  get 
word  to  James ;  and  of  course  I  had  to  go.  It 
didn't  make  any  matter." 

"  Yes,  it  did."  She  seemed  to  him  unreasonable, 
and  she  was  really  troubled  in  mind.  "  And  Phi- 
letus has. gone  home?" 

"  Yes ;  and  I  was  to  send  Consider  after  him." 

"  Send  him  at  once.  Tell  him  to  hurry.  He  is  at 
the  well.  There,  go.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  Do  as  I 
tell  you,  at  once."  Paul  was  standing  before  her, 
thinking  all  his  little  world  was  becoming  strange. 


234  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

However,  he  did  her  errand,  which  she  hastened 
by  a  few  words  to  Consider.  She  wrote  them  large 
on  the  small  slate  he  carried,  urging  him  to  hurry 
and  that  Philetus  was  ill.  Far  ahead  of  him  the 
blind  woodman  was  going  swiftly  along  the  road. 
His  unbridled  imaginations  were  away  with  him 
on  a  path  of  vague  fears.  The  wolves  of  anger, 
jealousy,  insane  suspicion,  pursued  his  blind  yet 
rapid  steps.  Now  and  then  he  paused  and  touched 
tree  or  stump  or  listened  to  hear  the  sound  of  a 
brook.  He  knew  the  way.  Almost  his  feet  knew 
it;  but  when  in  his  wild  eagerness  he  ran  and 
struck  against  a  tree,  he  hesitated,  cursing  his  lost 
sight.  At  last,  breathless,  he  came  out  on  his 
clearing.  Oh  but  to  see !  He  called,  "  Myry, 
Myry!"  Then  the  child  ran  from  her  play-house 
and  took  his  hand. 

"  Where's  mother,  Phely  ?"  he  said. 

"  Mother  and  Mr.  Kiverius  they  wanted  to  talk 
secrets.     Phely  had  to  go  away." 

"  How  long  was  he  there  ?" 

"Phely  don't  know.     Oh,  very  long." 

"  Come,"  he  said,  and,  as  she  moved  too  slowly, 
he  carried  her,  and,  not  listening  to  her  incessant 
prattle,  set  her  down  at  the  door.  She  ran  in  be- 
fore him. 

"  Myry !"  he  cried,  and  followed  the  little  one. 
"  What's  the  matter?     Somethin's  wrong." 

"  Mother's  lying  down  on  the  floor,  and,  oh,  she's 
all  red — oh,  pretty  red — all  over !  Who  tore  your 
clothes,  mother  ?  Here  !  here  !"  she  cried,  pulling 
at  his  hand. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  23b 

He  stooped  and  touched  the  still  form  on  the 
floor,  then,  in  agonized  haste,  felt  face  and  breast, 
rose,  swayed,  and  at  last  fell  again  on  his  knees 
beside  her  and  caught  up  the  poor  dead  limp  form 
he  had  loved,  and  kissed  it  over  and  over.  "  Oh, 
Christ,"  he  said,  "  she  is  dead !  My  Myry  is  dead ! 
I  cannot  see.  She  cannot  see."  He  lifted  her  large 
figure  and  laid  it  on  the  bed,  tenderly  set  out  the 
strong  limbs,  and  closed  the  eyes,  trembling  as  he 
touched  them.  Meanwhile,  the  child  was  quiet 
and  awed.  At  last,  as  he  stood  by  the  bed,  staring 
visionless  at  the  form  below  him,  the  child  said, 
"  You  all  red  too,  on  the  hands." 

"  Who's  that  ?"  he  cried.     It  was  Consider. 

"It's  me,  Phil.  It's  Consider,"  said  the  deaf 
man,  announcing  himself  with  a  touch.  "  What ! 
Myry!  Why,  she  ain't  dead!  Surely!  She's 
shot !  Who  done  that  ?  Your  rifle's  on  the  floor." 
He  leaned  over  her,  fearing  to  touch  her,  and  keep- 
ing his  hands  behind  him.  "  It's  awful,  Phil.  It's 
in  the  neck.  She's  dead,  sure  enough.  Who  done 
it?" 

"  Who's  been  here,  Phely  ?" 

"  Mr.  Riverius,  he's  been,"  said  the  child. 

"He's  the  man,"  said  Philetus.  "I  knowed  it 
was  a-comin'.  I  knowed  somethin'  was  a-comin'." 
He  seized  the  deaf  man's  sleeve  and  pointed  to  the 
door.  "  Rollins,"  he  said,  distinctly,  "  and  the 
rest,"  and  opened  and  shut  his  fingers  to  show  that 
he  wanted  all  the  men  to  come  back  with  him. 
Then  he  took  the  child  in  his  lap,  and  waited, 
sitting  silent  before  her  many  questions. 


236  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Meanwhile,  Consider  ran  down  the  slope  and 
into  the  woods.  In  an  hour,  as  he  came  near  to 
Rollins's  camp,  he  met  Ance  Vickers. 

"  What's  up  ?"  said  Ance,  boldly,  seizing  his 
sleeve.  The  deaf  man,  as  if  hearing  him,  an- 
swered, "  Myry  Richmond's  killed.  Phil  he  says 
Riverius  done  it."  Ance  started.  "  Little  Phely 
she  says  he  were  thar.  I  don't  take  it  as  that  Ger- 
man done  it;  I  don't.     He  ain't  that  sort." 

For  a  moment  Ance  stood  still,  while  Consider 
went  by  to  the  camp  in  hot  haste.  A  sense  of  re- 
lief at  suspicion  being  directed  away  from  him  was 
Vickers's  first  feeling.  He  would  have  time  to 
think,  and  would  be  easier  about  meeting  the  men. 
Then,  too,  a  grim  idea  came  into  his  mind  that  at 
last  his  enemy  would  be  humbled.  His  resent- 
ment was  somehow  intensified  by  his  own  mishap, 
and  he  did  not  readily  forgive  a  defeat.  That  it  all 
might  mean  something  more  grave  to  Riverius  he 
did  not  stay  to  consider.  His  mental  horizons  were 
limited.  The  haughty  gentleman  would  suffer. 
Ance  liked  that,  and  just  now  that  was  all.  He 
went  on  into  camp,  where  all  was  wild  confusion. 
Mrs.  Rollins,  who  was  with  her  husband,  together 
with  Rollins  and  a  half-dozen  men,  went  away  at 
once  with  Consider.  Ance  said  he  would  come 
later,  as  soon  as  he  had  had  a  bite,  or,  as  Rollins 
said  was  better,  he  might  join  them  at  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton's, where  they  would  seek  Riverius  if  he  had 
not  already  fled.  "  If  he  is  the  man  he  won't  get 
much  time  from  this  crowd,"  added  Rollins;  "  but 
what's  done's  got  to  be  done  just,  and  no  hurryin'." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  237 

Then  he  hastened  away,  leaving  Ance  to  his  rather 
troubled  reflections.  These  were  simple  if  not  brief. 
He  knew  at  once  that  the  public  opinion  of  the 
camps  would  be  against  Riverius.  He  knew  also 
that  in  this  lawless  wilderness  retribution  was  apt 
to  be  swift  and  not  over-thoughtful.  As  to  the  evi- 
dence against  the  German,  he  could  tell  little ;  but 
if — if  it  should  be  enough  to  hang  him  ?  Ance  did 
not  like  that.  Confession  was  not  in  Vickers's 
mind,  but  the  idea  that  another  should  die  for  an 
accident  he,  Ance,  had  caused  was  a  thing  grave 
enough  to  one  who  valued  himself  on  fair  play  and 
absence  of  treachery.  He  rose  at  once,  and  after  a 
half-hour  of  rapid  trot  through  the  woods  came  to 
Riverius's  cabin.  The  German  as  he  knocked  said, 
"  Come  in,"  and  looked  up  in  surpri&e,  adding, 
"  What  do  you  want  ?"  The  faint  chivalry  of  the 
woodman  failed  him  a  little  at  his  rather  cool  re- 
ception, and  he  wished  he  had  not  been  in  such  a 
hurry  to  act.  But  Riverius  was  at  present  in  a  sun- 
shiny humor,  and  saw,  too,  some  sign  of  anxiety 
in  the  red  wild  visage  before  him.  "  Sit  down, 
Ance,"  he  said. 

"  I  came  over — I  want  to  speak  to  you."  He 
was  blown  from  exertion. 

"Well,  I  am  here.  What  is  it?  Can  I  help 
you  in  any  way  ?  If  you  would  only  quit  the  bot- 
tle I  would  be  always  ready  to  help  you.  I  was 
never  glad  a  fellow  had  been  drinking  until  that 
night  we  had  our  fight.  It  was  lucky  for  me.  You 
are  a  brave  man,  Ance  Yickers,  and  you  have  no 
business  to  drink." 


238  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Ance  was  pleased.  A  rough  word  would  have 
stopped  him.  "  I  ain't  as  bad  as  some  folks  makes 
me  out,  Mr.  Ryverus.  I  wouldn't  mind  tryin'  a 
fall  with  you  ag'in;  but  now  that  ain't  my  arrand. 
And  ther'  ain't  no  time  to  lose.  Myry  Richmond's 
bin  killed  this  mornin'." 

"  What !     Killed !     Myra  killed  ?" 

"  It's  so.  It's  my  notion  she's  had  a  accident ; 
but  the  men  say  you  done  it,  and  little  Phely  she 
says  you  was  thar  to-day,  and  Philetus  he's  awful 
sot  ag'in'  you,  and  I  jus'  come  over  to  tell  you  to 
git  out  of  this,  quick.  They'll  hang  you,  sure  as 
day." 

"  Mein  Gott !"  exclaimed  Riverius,  rising.  "  This 
is  horrible !" 

"Don't  you  stay  to  talk.  Jus'  you  git  away. 
Take  the  dug-out  and  the  river." 

Riverius  reflected  for  a  moment.  "  What  made 
you  come  to  warn  me  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  you  done  it.  It's  a  acci- 
dent.    You  couldn't  of  done  it,  noways." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Riverius.  "  Thank  you.  I 
shall  not  forget  this."  And  he  put  out  his  hand, 
which  Ance  took.  He  felt  better.  The  German 
could  escape,  still  suspected.  He  would  further 
counsel  him  how  to  avoid  pursuit.  All  the  night 
was  before  him  for  flight,  and  thus  Ance  would 
remain  free  from  immediate  peril,  and,  what  was 
worse,  of  having  a  man  die  for  his  fault.  "  You'll 
go  quick  ?"  he  said.    "  You  'ain't  any  time  to  lose." 

"  Gott  in  Himmel !  you  do  not  suppose  I  shall 
run  away  ?" 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  239 

"  Then  you're  a  dead  man.     Mind,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  shall  not  go." 

"  You  must  be  crazy  like,  to  stay.  You  don't 
know  Rollins  and  the  rest." 

"  I  shall  stay.     Thank  you  all  the  same." 

Ance  did  not  like  the  outlook.  "  If  them  fellers 
knowed  I  give  you  warnin'  it  'd  be  bad  fur  me." 

"  You  may  feel  sure  that  I  shall  not  mention  you, 
no  matter  what  happens.  Now  get  away.  If  you 
are  seen  here  you  will  be  suspected." 

Ance  went  out.  At  the  door  he  turned  back. 
"  You'd  best  think  about  it." 

"  I  have.  Good-day."  And  Ance,  puzzled,  went 
out  into  the  woods,  and  waited  again  in  awful  per- 
plexity. 

As  to  Riverius,  he  sat  down,  and,  with  little  ma- 
terial to  aid  him,  thought  over  the  peril  about  to 
come.  It  was  simply  absurd,  incredible.  But  as 
for  Bessy  Preston, — oh,  that  was  the  worst  of  all ! 
He,  too,  waited. 


w 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

In  about  half  an  hour,  Riverius  saw,  at  the  door 
he  had  left  open,  Rollins,  Philetus,  and  a  half-dozen 
others,  all  armed  and  grave,  and  behind  them 
Ance  Vickers.  Through  the  door-way  he  also  saw 
Mrs.  Preston,  looking  over  at  the  group. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said.     "  What  is  it  ?" 

Rollins  entered  at  once.  "  Myry  Richmond's  been 
murdered  to-day,"  he  said,  "  and  you  are  the  man 
that  did  it." 

Riverius  rose  quietly.  He  did  not  see  at  once 
that  it  was  his  role  to  seem  surprised,  and  his  cool- 
ness served  to  injure  his  cause. 

"  Indeed !"  he  said.  "  That  is  strange.  And 
you  mean  to  say  I  did  it.  Come  in,  men, — and 
you,  Philetus.  Now  listen.  I  have  nothing  to  hide. 
The  thing  you  tell  me  is  terrible,  but  I  shall  show 
you  that  it  is  impossible  that  I  could  have  done  it." 

"  That's  what  we  want,"  said  a  man. 

"  I  Lad  no  cause  to  dislike  her." 

"  Guess  not,"  said  one  at  the  door. 

"  I  went  over  to  see  her  to  offer  Philetus  a  place 
with  large  wages  near  Pottsville.  I  have  always 
been  good  to  her  and  to  him.  What  reason  on 
earth  have  you  to  think  I — I  of  all  people — would 
hi>rt  a  woman  ?" 

"■I've  got  to  talk  here,"  said  Philetus.  "No, 
no;  I  ain't  goin'  to  kill  him,"  he  added,  as  Rollins 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  241 

put  a  band  on  the  rifle  the  blind  man  carried  more 
from  force  of  habit  than  for  hope  of  use. 

"  This  here  man's  been  a-comin'  to  my  house  off 

and  on,  and   my  wife   that's  dead  she Oh, 

Lord!  what  fetched  him  thar  in  the  night  times? 
Many's  the  night  I've  got  up  and  sarched  my 
clearin';  but  I  'ain't  no  eyes,  and  what  was  the 
use  ?  He  come  when  he  liked.  I  don't  credit  none 
of  that  'bout  a  place.  What  did  he  turn  me  off 
fur,  and  go  to  talkin'  'bout  a  place  now  ?  It's  ag'in' 
reason." 

"  I  think  you  know  better,"  said  Riverius. 

"  'Twasn't  reason  enough  to  turn  me  off.  'Bout 
this  murder,  I  say  he  done  it.  I've  got  thinkin' 
eyes,  ef  I  'ain't  got  seein'  eyes.  That  man  killed 
my  Myry.  God  knows  what  went  on  thar.  Her 
clothes  was  tore.  You  seed  'em ;  all  of  you  seed 
'em.  And  my  gal  she  said  he  sent  her  out,  and 
Myry  she  told  her  not  to  come  in  soon.  She  told 
her  that.  Oh,  Lord,  Lord,  forgive  her!  And 
didn't  Paul  Preston  tell  me  as  he  sent  him  away 
too  ?"     A  murmur  went  up  from  the  men. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Preston  appeared.  In  a 
few  words  outside  Consider  had  told  her  all.  "  Let 
me  pass,"  she  said.    "  What  is  all  this,  Mr.  Rollins  ?" 

"  It  ain't  no  place  for  women,"  said  Rollins. 
"  Mr.  Ryverus  is  a  good  deal  more  than  suspected 
of  having  killed  Myry  Richmond.  No  one  else 
was  there  to-day.  The  child  was  made  to  go  out 
and  leave  them.  He  sent  Paul  off  on  an  errand. 
She  says  no  one  else  was  there." 

"  It  is  nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Preston.    "  She  may 


242  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

have  killed  herself.  Philetus  had  made  her  un- 
happy enough  for  that  or  anything." 

"  Yes,  or  anything,"  groaned  Philetus. 

"  Why  did  Mr.  Ryverus  go  over  there  ?"  said 
Rollins. 

"  To  ask  Richmond's  wife  to  talk  to  him  about 
taking  a  place  on  his  coal-land  near  Pottsville." 

"  Why  didn't  he  speak  to  Phil  ?" 

She  was  silent. 

"  Speak  out,"  said  Riverius.  "  I  desire  no  con- 
cealments." 

"  He  hated  Mr.  Riverius." 

"  And  he  had  a  right  to,"  said  the  blind  man. 

"Do  you  suppose,  Mrs.  Preston,"  said  Rollins, 
"  any  one  will  believe  Ryverus  wanted  just  for 
nothing  to  help  a  man  he  knowed  despised  him  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said ;  but  the  men  laughed.  Then 
she  added,  "  Mr.  Riverius  wished  to  help  Mrs. 
Richmond  and  her  child.  He  had  no  personal 
quarrel  with  Philetus,  and  you  will  do  well  to  hesi- 
tate as  to  this  business.  Philetus  is  not,  I  think,  a 
sane  man.  His  evidence  is  worthless."  Again 
there  was  an  angry  murmur. 

"  Mrs.  Preston,"  said  Riverius,  "  I  beg  of  you  to 
leave  us.  I  am  among  men  who  will  see  fair  play. 
But  first  I  wish  to  say  that  I  reached  Richmond's 
cabin  about  nine,  that  Paul  went  with  me  and  left 
me  on  the  way." 

"  What  for  ?"  said  Philetus. 

"  I  sent  him  to  my  camp  with  a  message  for 
James." 

"  Oh !"  exclaimed  one  or  two.     The  deliberate 


FAR  AV  THE  FOREST.  243 

desire  to  be  alone  with  Miriam  shown  in  getting 
both  children  away  seemed  clear  to  them,  and  the 
fact  that  no  one  else  had  been  there  appeared  also 
certain. 

"  You  surely,"  said  Riverius,  "  will  think  much 
before  you  act  rashly.  I  am  alone,  a  stranger.  No 
man  can  say  I  have  done  evil  while  among  you." 

"  And  I  say  it,"  said  Philetus. 

Riverius  went  on  :  "I  go  to  see  Mrs.  Richmond 
on  an  errand  of  mercy,  and  wish  of  course  to  talk 
with  her  alone.  On  this  you  lay  a  charge  of 
murder." 

"  It  might  have  been  an  accident,"  said  Ance. 

"  It  wasn't  that,"  said  Rollins.  "  Anyways,  it 
ain't  a  matter  to  settle  this  fashion.  I've  sent  for 
Pearson  and  the  lower  camp.  To-morrow  morning 
we'll  just  go  over  the  whole  thing  and  try  this  man 
fair.  If  he  didn't  do  it,  he'll  get  off;  and  if  he  did 
— well,  justice  is  justice.  Here,  Mr.  Ryverus, 
you've  got  to  be  made  safe.  Jones,  do  you  and 
Wilson  keep  guard  round  this  cabin.  Tie  his 
hands,  Ance.     There,  take  that  snow-shoe  lacin'." 

Riverius  grew  white.  "  Mr.  Rollins,"  he  said, 
"  I  pledge  you  my  honor  I  will  not  try  to  escape." 

"  We  don't  take  no  man's  word  in  this  sort  of 
business.  We'll  just  make  sure  you  don't  get  away. 
Come,  clear  the  cabin." 

Ance  hated  it.  As  he  came  towards  Riverius, 
the  men  turned  to  go. 

"  Hush,"  said  Ance,  behind  the  prisoner.  "  I'm 
fur  you.  Give  me  your  hands."  Riverius  quietly 
obeyed.     Rollins  walked  back  and  looked  at  the 


244  FAR  IN  TITE  FOREST. 

German.  "  Take  his  rifle,  Ance."  Strict  orders 
were  given  as  to  the  guard,  the  door  was  closed,  and 
Riverius  was  left  to  his  reflections.  He  heard  at 
times  the  steps  of  the  guards.  The  insects  troubled 
him.  He  lay  down  or  stood  up,  uncomfortable, 
furious,  or  in  grim  wonderment  at  the  absurdity 
of  his  situation.  He  had  been  in  battles,  he  had 
faced  wild  creatures  and  wilder  men  in  many  lands, 
and  was  by  nature  and  by  habit  brave.  The  danger 
did  not  greatly  trouble  him.  In  no  way  could  he 
bring  it  strongly  home  to  himself  that  here  outside 
were  men  who  believed  that  he,  John,  Baron  Eive- 
rius,  had  killed  a  peasant  woman.  He  thought  of 
the  old  castle,  the  great  hall,  the  windows  with 
their  heraldic  blazonry,  the  arms  upon  the  walls, 
each  with  its  familiar  story,  and  then  of  his  own 
study  and  the  resolute  features  of  his  father  look- 
ing from  the  canvas  above  the  fire.  He  glanced 
about  him,  laughed  outright,  and  said  aloud,  "  Der 
Teufel !  the  things  that  bite  !  Halloo,  there  !"  he 
cried.    At  his  second  call  Jones  entered. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  he  said,  roughly. 

"Want?  I  don't  want  to,  die  of  midges  and 
mosquitoes." 

"Oh,  that's  all?  Well,  here's  Paul  Preston's 
fetched  your  supper.     Git  him  to  build  a  smudge." 

Paul  came  in,  silent,  and  in  dreadful  trouble.  It 
was  now  quite  dark. 

"I'm  awful  sorry,  Mr.  Riverius,"  said  the  lad. 
"  I've  brought  your  supper.  Oh,  they've  tied  your 
hands.  Let  me  cut  it.  Oh,  I'd  kill  them !"  And 
he  burst  into  tears 


FAR  IN  THE    FOREST.  245 

"  Don't  cry,"  said  Riverius.  "  Just  brush  off 
these  mosquitoes  and  build  me  a  smudge.  The 
pot's  in  the  hearth.  No  use  to  cut  the  cords  ;  best 
not.  And  give  me  the  milk  to  drink.  So ;  now 
that  is  all  I  want;  but  tell  your  mother  to  come  and 
see  me  to-night.  She  must  manage  it.  Thank  you, 
old  fellow.  Now  don't  cry.  We'll  pull  through 
somehow." 

The  scene  without  would  not  have  reassured 
him.  By  degrees  threescore  rough  lumbermen 
had  been  over  to  Richmond's  and  seen  the  still 
corpse,  and  heard  the  tale  in  divers  versions,  and 
come  away  to  Mrs.  Preston's  to  sit  around  the  fires 
in  her  clearing  or  to  relieve  guard  or  discuss  the 
murder.  Only  Ance  and  Consider  were  at  all 
friendly  to  the  accused,  and  the  blind  wretched  old 
Philetus  wandered  from  group  to  group,  relating 
his  hallucinations  as  realities  to  men  devoid  of 
judgment,  until  Rollins  and  Pearson  saw  that  it 
was  becoming  hard  to  control  or  influence  the  wild 
mob  about  them.  Pearson  was  desirous  to  send  the 
prisoner  to  Smethport  for  trial ;  but  this  was  not 
the  way  of  the  woods,  and  Rollins  knew,  with 
much  doubt  in  his  mind  as  he  discussed  the  matter, 
that  in  one  fashion  or  another  the  fate  of  Riverius 
would  be  settled  at  early  morn.  He  meant  at  least 
that  he  should  be  fairly  dealt  with. 

The  evening  wore  away,  and  about  nine  Mrs. 
Preston  sent  for  Rollins.  She  pointed  to  a  seat. 
"  Mr.  Rollins,"  she  said,  "  you  are  going  to  get  into 
trouble." 

"  How  ?" 


246  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  Mr.  Riverius  is  a  German  nobleman.  He  is 
rich,  well  known,  and  powerful,  and  has  friends. 
Just  reflect  how  absurd  it  all  is.  The  want  of 
motive, — the  chance  that  she  did  it  herself." 

"  Oh,  that  couldn't  be.  There  had  been  a  strug- 
gle." 

"  Well,  the  chance  that  another  did  it.  These 
woods  are  full  of  bad  men." 

"  That's  so  ;  but  who  else  could  have  done  it?" 

"  Will  you  help  me  and  him  ?" 

He  was  disturbed.  He  hated  Riverius,  but  it 
was  one  thing  to  hate,  and  another  to  send  a  man 
possibly  innocent  to  death. 

"  It  would  be  as  much  as  my  life's  worth." 

"  And  what  will  it  be  worth  if — if — oh,  if  you 
hang  an  honest  gentleman  and  learn  in  a  week  who 
really  did  this  awful  thing  ?" 

"I'm  not  everybody,"  he  said,  and  began  to 
wish  he  had  been  less  urgent. 

"  Well,  get  him  away.  You  can  do  it.  I  will 
give  you  a  thousand  dollars, — all  my  land, — any- 
thing." 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said.  "  I  haven't  got  the 
power." 

"  Then  take  care  of  yourself  in  future,"  she  said, 
rising. 

He  looked  at  her  sharply  and  went  out. 

"  She's  a  good  bit  of  a  man,  that  woman  is,"  he 
said. 

It  was  a  little  after  this  when  Mrs.  Preston  re- 
ceived her  message  from  Paul.  She  rose  at  once 
and  went  out  to  find  Rollins.     The  men  looked  up 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  247 

curious  as  she  passed  among  them.  She  found 
Rollins  talking  earnestly  to  some  of  his  lumbermen. 

"  I  won't  have  it,"  he  said,  as  she  came  up.  "  It 
ain't  too  sure,  and  he's  got  to  have  a  fair  trial,  and 
Pearson's  men  aren't  all  here.  You  wait  till  they 
come."    He  stepped  forward  to  meet  Mrs.  Preston. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Riverius,"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  he  returned. 

"  Do  you  think  any  one  will  stop  me  ?  You're  a 
poor  set  of  men.  "What  can  a  woman  do  that  you 
need  fear  ?" 

"  Oh,  let  her  go,"  cried  one  of  the  men. 

"  Thank  you.  There  is  one  man  here  with  a 
soul." 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Rollins,  who  never  had  the 
same  opinion  for  two  minutes. 

"  I  want  a  half-hour." 

"  All  right."  And  he  preceded  her,  said  a  word 
to  the  guard,  opened  the  door,  let  her  in,  and, 
closing  it,  waited  without. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

"  It  is  I,"  she  said, — "  Bessy,"  trying  to  see  him, 
as  she  entered  the  dark  room. 

"  I  am  over  here,"  he  said,  quietly,  rising  from 
the  hed.  "  My  wrists  are  tied.  No  doubt  Paul 
told  you.  Sit  down  by  me."  She  did  so,  her  hands 
on  her  lap. 

"You  are  a  good  and  brave  woman.  I  have 
little  hope  of  escape.  Don't  cry."  She  was  sob- 
bing like  a  child. 

"  Listen.     Do  you  know  how  I  love  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  was  a  fool, — a  weak  fool.  I  hesitated.  Edu- 
cation and  traditions  are  cruel  bonds.  I  am  ashamed 
to  speak  of  it,  but  I  must." 

"  No,  no ;  I  understand.  I  always  understood. 
You  love  me.     That  is  enough." 

"  I  want  to  hear  you  say  I  am  forgiven." 

She  bent  over  and  kissed  his  cheek,  he  feeling 
her  tears  wet  his  face  and  instinctively  straining  a 
moment  to  release  his  hands. 

"  My  God !"  he  groaned,  "  but  life  is  sweet,  and 
I  might  have  spared  you  all  this  if  I  had  but  been 
less  a  fool." 

"  Don't !  don't !  I  cannot  bear  that.  There  is  a 
fate  in  it.  I — I  sent  you  to  Miriam's,  and  I  might 
have  known  better.  Oh,  yes,  I  might  have  known 
better." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  249 

He  was  calmed  by  her  despair.  "  Do  not  let  us 
hurt  each  other  this  way,"  he  said.  "  Try  to  attend 
to  what  I  say.  It  is  most  needful.  You  can  do  me 
no  better  service.     Try,  dear." 

She  put  her  arm  behind  him  and  caught  the 
bound  hands,  whose  touch  as  she  felt  the  cords 
seemed  to  drain  life  of  power  to  suffer.  He  waited, 
and,  as  the  dulled  sound  of  oath  and  laugh  and  the 
increasing  clamorous  talk  without  reached  them, 
she  sat  up  stiffly,  instinctively  governing  body  and 
shakeu  mind  at  once. 

"  Now  go  on.     I  can  listen." 

Even  in  this  bitter  hour  he  had  pleasure  in  the 
way  in  which  his  pride  in  her  was  justified. 

"  Take  off  my  ring." 

She  did  as  he  directed.  He  wore  it  on  his  thumb, 
after  the  German  way  which  had  much  surprised 
poor  Miriam. 

"  Keep  it,"  he  said. 

"  Yes." 

"In  my  portfolio  are  papers,  deeds,  and  ad- 
dresses. They  will  tell  you  all  you  will  need  to 
know.  Keep  whatever  in  my  trunk  you  want. 
Give  Paul  my  rifle  and  books.  You  must  write 
to  Fritz.  He  will  have  the  old  place.  Tell  him 
everything,  not  soon,  but  when  you  feel  able.  That 
is  all,  I  think."  She  remained  silent,  waiting  to 
know  what  else  he  had  to  say.  He  went  on,  "  I 
did  want  to  take  you  to  my  home.  I  was  so  proud 
of  you.  I  had  written  of  my  hope  to  a  friend. 
Fritz  will  send  you  a  miniature.  Keep  it.  Keep 
it  where  I  can  see  you.     And  pray  for  me,  Bessy. 


250  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Ah,  with  you  I  should  have  been  better,  wiser. 
Don't  stay  here  to-morrow.     Go  away  to-night." 

"  I  shall  be  by  you,  if — if  you  die,"  she  said. 
"Do  not  fear  for  me." 

"  If?"  he  said,  tranquilly.  "  Ah,  my  child,  there 
is  no  '  if '  here.  Listen."  The  tumult  without  was 
growing.  "  Have  no  delusion  about  this.  Another 
woman  than  you  I  would  cheat  with  hope.  It  is 
best  not, — best  to  face  it,  to  feel  sure  that  I  am  a 
lost  man  to  this  world." 

She  rose  as  he  spoke.  "  I  cannot  bear  it,"  she 
said.  "  I  cannot  make  it  seem  possible.  God  will 
help  us." 

"  Yes,  in  his  way,  not  ours.  I  want  you  to  go 
now.  Before  you  go,  I  want  to  say  to  you  that  there 
is  no  measure  of  earthly  love  I  do  not  give  you. 
Take  that  with  you.  A  day  will  come  when  it 
will  be  pleasant  to  recall.  Kiss  me,  and  don't  stay. 
I  want  you  to  go." 

"  Why  must  I  ?     I  cannot." 

"  I  at  least  do  not  deceive  myself.  I  know  these 
men.  My  time  may  be  brief.  I  want  to  be  alone 
with  my  thoughts.  With  you  here  I  cannot  think. 
All  life  and  all  its  joys  reel  round  me  at  your  touch. 
I  must  get  away  from  these,  from  time.  You  un- 
derstand.    Kiss  me." 

She  threw  herself  on  his  neck  and  clung  to  him, 
kissing  him  amidst  a  rain  of  tears. 

"Do  you  want  to  weaken  me,  Bessy  ?" 

She  rose  up  at  once. 

"  Good-by.  It  will  not,  shall  not  be.  God  will 
help  us." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  251 

"  Do  not  deceive  yourself,"  he  said,  again,  "  and 
do  not  bear  useless  malice.  Learn  to  live  again. 
You  owe  something  to  Paul.  These  men  are  as 
beasts,  who  know  not  what  they  are  doing." 

"  I  shall  neither  forget  nor  forgive." 

"  Bessy  !" 

"  It  is  so.  I  shall  go  mad.  Oh,  men,  men !" 
And  she  fled  violently,  casting  the  door  open  and 
going  haughtily  through  the  groups  and  past  the 
fires. 

"  Mein  Gott !"  he  said,  "  that  was  hard." 

Meanwhile,  another  was  almost  as  anxious  as  she. 
Ance  went  about  among  the  lumbermen  and  heard 
their  talk.  Whiskey  was  plenty  and  passions  were 
high.  Perhaps  even  more  clearly  than  Rollins  he 
saw  the  nearness  of  the  danger.  A  word,  a  mo- 
ment, would  bring  death.  As  he  passed  a  fire,  he 
paused,  hearing  Rollins  warn  the  men  to  be  careful, 
as  the  whole  country  was  like  tinder,  no  rain  having 
fallen  for  two  months.  Rollins  moved  off  to  repeat 
his  caution,  and  a  man  called  to  Ance,  "  Come  and 
have  a  drink." 

"  I  don't  want  none." 

"  That's  queer.  Anyhow,  set  down  and  help  rig 
this  here  noose.  It'll  be  wanted  to-morrow,  or 
sooner,  maybe." 

"  Rig  it  for  yourself,"  he  replied.  "  You'll  need 
it  some  day." 

Suddenly  he  saw  a  long  mass  of  gray  moss  pen- 
dent from  the  limbs  of  a  dead  pine.  Dimly  seen  in 
the  wood  by  the  leaping  firelight,  it  took  the  shape 
of  a  man's  body  suspended.     "  That's  awful !"  he 


252  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

groaned.  "  I've  got  to  do  it  some  way.  0  Lord, 
git  me  off  this  thing,  and  I'll  never  drink  no  more." 
It  was  the  nearest  approach  to  a  prayer  that  had 
passed  his  lips  for  many  a  year. 

The  suggestion  of  fire  left  in  his  brain  a  dull 
hope.  He  stood  still  a  moment,  and  then  went 
over  to  Mrs.  Preston's  through  the  men. 


CHAPTER   XXL 

Vickers  approached  the  cabin  cautiously  from 
the  back  door.  He  knocked  and  waited.  Then  a 
voice  said,  "  Come  in."  He  entered.  Mrs.  Preston 
was  sitting  in  troubled  thought. 

"Who  is  that?" 

«  Me,— Ance  Vickers."    And  he  shut  the  door. 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"  Kin  you  trust  a  man  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  alertly. 

"  You're  his  friend." 

"  I  should  have  been  his  wife." 

"He  didn't  do  that  thing;  and,  as  sure  as  day, 
there'll  be  murder  done  before  sun-up." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  Look  here.     Are  you  grit  to  do  a  big  thing?" 

"  Go  on,  and  hurry.     I  can  do  anything." 

"  Then  do  you  and  Paul  take  some  matches  and 
go  into  the  woods  and  git  apart  a  bit  and  light  three 
or  four  birches.  Git  well  back,  a  good  five  hundred 
yards.  Then  run  for  the  river,  and  keep  under  the 
bank,  and  back  to  your  clearin',  and  come  right  up, 
so  as  no  one  don't  see  you." 

"  A  thousand  dollars  if  you  save  him." 

"  I  don't  want  it.  It  ain't  that.  I  know  he  never 
done  it.  But  run,  run  like  mad,  when  you've  lit 
the  birches.  The  whole  country  'ill  go.  They'd 
kill  'most  any  one  they  ketched,  man  or  woman." 


254  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  Good  !"  she  said. 

"  Mind,  it's  your  doin',  and  there  won't  be  a  stick 
from  here  to  Smith's  tract  that  won't  go." 

"  Let  it  burn,"  she  said.  "  But  as  to  Mr.  Rive- 
rius,  what  shall  you  do  ?" 

"  You  fire  them  birches  with  this  wind  a-blowin', 
and  I'll  look  arter  him.  And  there'll  be  resks  for 
some." 

"  What !  These  men  ?  Thank  God  !  I  trust 
you,  Ance." 

"  Then  in  half  an  hour." 

She  called  Paul  from  the  outside  and  calmly  told 
him.  He  listened  in  his  usual  patient  way.  Then 
he  said,  "  I  see.  It  will  work.  Ance  will  do  it." 
And  together  they  slipped  out  and  passed  into  the 
woods. 

It  was  hot,  and  a  strong  gale  was  roaring  in  the 
pines  and  blowing  on  their  backs  as  they  went. 
Meanwhile,  Ance  found  Rollins. 

"  I'll  just  look  after-  that  knot  a  bit.  Couldn't  I 
leave  it  off  for  the  night?     The  flies  is  awful." 

"  Oh,  do  as  you  like,"  said  Rollins.  Ready  to 
rush  into  danger,  he  cooled  off  visibly  as  the  risks 
multiplied. 

On  his  way  Yickers  met  the  blind  Philetus. 
"  Ance,"  he  said,  "  did  you  see  Phely  ?" 

"  Yes ;  she's  with  Consider." 

"  She  'ain't  no  mother  now,  and  I've  got  to  quit 
drink.  Don't  you  never  go  to  make  me  drink 
ag'in." 

"  I  won't,  Phil." 

"  Did  you  see  my  Myry  ?" 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  255 

"  "No,"  said  Alice,  faintly. 

"  They  said  she  was  that  white,  and  her  face 
like  a  angel's.  You'd  like  to  come  over  and  see 
her  'fore  she's  put  in  the  ground  ?" 

"  Yes.  Oh,  Lord !"  groaned  Ance,  as  he  moved 
away.  For  the  first  time,  the  awfulness  of  the 
calamity  to  others  oppressed  him.  The  motherless 
child,  the  helpless  blind  man,  troubled  him.  His 
own  safety  being  assured,  he  was  open  to  under- 
stand and  measurably  pity  what  he  now  saw, — the 
consequences  to  Phil,  who  admired  his  strength 
and  courage,  and  to  the  child,  who  liked  him  as  she 
liked  all  masculine  beings.  Of  late,  Phil  had  been 
physically  failing,  as  the  camps  knew  well ;  and  now 
what  would  become  of  Phely  and  of  him  ?  Want, 
Ance  could  appreciate.  He  had  felt  it.  That 
needed  no  conjuring  fancy  to  bring  it  sharply  before 
his  mind.  Serious  beliefs  the  man  had  not  of  any 
definiteness.  These  need  for  sustentation  in  such 
natures  frequent  reminders  and  example  and  usage. 
Some  vague  God  there  was  for  him,  no  doubt,  but 
more  the  memory  of  a  child's  faith  than  a  definite 
belief.  Certainly  all  his  reflections  now  were  per- 
sonally directed  and  limited  to  the  lower  levels  of 
consequence.  And  yet,  by  degrees,  his  awkward, 
rusty  mental  and  moral  machinery,  fed  by  time  and 
chance,  was  competently  grinding  out  torments, 
and  was  also  pinching  into  capacities  for  human 
use  faculties  for  feeling  long  benumbed  by  drink 
and  disuse.  These  mills  of  God  which  grind  so 
slowly  grind  out  at  last  the  bread  of  a  larger,  better 
life. 


256  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Ance  wound  in  and  out  among  the  men,  troubled 
by  Philetus,  who  clung  to  him,  held  his  sleeve,  and 
sbowed  an  increasing  sense  of  dependence.  Once 
Rollins  called  him  back  and  urged  him  to  take  care 
the  prisoner  did  not  get  away.  Ance  grinned. 
"  He's  got  two  hearts,  like  an  Injun,"  he  muttered; 
"  don't  know  what  he  wants."  At  last  he  was  free 
to  enter  the  German's  cabin,  but  he  had  lost  ten 
precious  minutes.  At  the  door  he  turned  and 
looked  about  him.  Several  camp-fires  blazed  on 
the  clearing, — none  over  fifty  yards  away.  No 
leave  had  been  asked.  Around  them  lay  some  of 
the  men,  drinking,  and  in  wild  clamorous  discus- 
sion. Others  moved  to  and  fro.  Beyond  was 
Mrs.  Preston's,  and  the  woods  were  all  around,  but 
far  more  open  towards  the  river,  where  trees  had 
been  felled  to  let  in  the  air.  Riverius's  cabin  was 
set  back  in  the  forest,  and  well  shaded.  Around 
it  two  men  walked  with  loaded  rifles.  For  the 
first  time  since  the  death  of  Miriam,  Ance  had  a 
dull  sense  of  pleasure.  Danger,  conflict,  chance  for 
action,  strung  to  normal  tension  the  slack  nerves 
of  the  man,  hitherto  hustled  about  by  brute  emo- 
tions and  without  power  or  hope  to  resist.  The 
idea  of  material  difficulty  at  once  helped  him.  A 
dim  sense  of  courted  peril  as  expiatory  was  in  his 
blunted  consciousness,  and,  with  a  renewed  sense 
of  efficiency,  he  smiled  as  he  said  to  the  sentries, — 
"  I'm  to  fix  him  for  the  night.  I'll  be  a  half- 
hour,  maybe  ;  then  I'm  to  take  your  place,  Jones." 
"  He  won't  want  no  bed  to-morrow  night,"  said 
Jones,  "  the  way  the  men's  talkin'." 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  257 

"  That's  so,"  said  Ance.  "  Wouldn't  bet  he'd 
see  mornin',  ef  I  had  my  way."  Then  he  went 
in  and  closed  the  door. 

"  What  time  is  it  V9  said  Riverius  through  the 
dark,  smoky  atmosphere,  thick  from  the  smoulder- 
ing smudge. 

"  Nigh  on  to  eleven,  I  guess." 

"  Oh,  it's  Yickers,  is  it  not?" 

"  Yes,  it's  me."     And  he  drew  near. 

"  What's  wanted  now  ?     Anything  new,  Ance  ?" 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Ryverus.  Air  you  minded  to 
stay  and  resk  it?  You  was  this  mornin'.  You'd  'a' 
bin  wiser  ef  you'd  'a'  took  to  my  notion  and  left." 

"  I  shall  stay.     Indeed,  what  choice  is  left  me  ?" 

"You  needn't." 

"  What !  Why  should  I  want  to  go  ?  I  am 
innocent." 

"  Talk  low,"  said  Ance.  "  You  'ain't  got  one 
chance  in  a  hundred.  I've  come  to  help  you. 
Mrs.  Preston  she  says  go.  That's  what  she  says. 
There's  men  now  out  there  gittin'  a  rope  ready." 

The  German  shuddered.  He  thought  of  those 
of  his  race  who  had  died  in  battle  or  by  the  axe, 
and  to  perish  by  a  brute's  death  amidst  a  howling 
drunken  mob, — "  Ah  !" 

"  I  will  do  as  you  say.  What  risk  will  you  run  ? 
That  troubles  me,  Ance." 

"All  right.  I  don't  run  no  resk.  We  kin  do 
it.  ]STow  you  listen.  Let's  untie  your  hands. 
It  '11  supple  'em  a  bit.     You  may  want  'em." 

"  Thank  you.     Himmel !  what  it  is  to   be  free 
He  wished  much  to  ask 


258  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

Ance  why  he  was  so  eager  to  help  him,  but  he 
thought  this  could  wait,  and  Ance  was  keenly 
anxious  to  act. 

"Look  here.  In  ten  minutes  I've  got  to  take 
Jones's  place.  When  I  go  out,  tie  this  deer-thong 
across  the  door-way,  'bout  a  foot  high.  "When  I 
call,  '  Fire !  fire  !'  then  you  git  ready.  Wilson's  a 
dead  shot.  I'll  holler  to  him  to  run  in  and  look 
arter  you.  He'll  trip  over  the  thong,  sure.  Then 
you  jump  over  him,  take  to  the  woods,  and  make 
for  the  river.  I'll  shoot  over  you.  Go  right  into 
the  river  and  let  the  water  take  you  down.  The 
dug-out's  resky.  t  They'd  maybe  see  it.  Kin  you 
swim?" 

"I?     Of  course." 

"  Well,  them  rapids  don't  trifle  with  a  man  ;  but 
it's  the  only  way.     Are  you  game  fur  it  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Take  your  boots  off*  'fore  you  wade  in.  They're 
onhandy  in  the  water.  Drop  'em  when  you're  well 
out.  Try  to  make  in  at  Laurel  Mountain.  Go  right 
up  to  my  cabin  and  hide.  Guess  no  one  won't  look 
fur  you  thar." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  fire  is  it  you  expect  ?  Who  is  helping 
you?" 

"  That'll  keep.  'Ain't  no  time  now.  And  look 
sharp.  I'll  jine  you  soon's  I  kin  git  off."  And,  so 
saying,  he  went  out. 

Kiverius,  moving  with  caution,  at  once  laid  aside 
his  coat,  put  a  pistol  in  his  belt,  secured  all  the  gold 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  259 

he  had  about  his  person,  arranged  the  cord  across 
the  door-way,  and  waited  anxiously  a  few  feet  from 
the  entrance.  The  time  seemed  endless.  "  Ach  !" 
he  exclaimed.  A  sudden,  dulled  murmur  came  to 
him  from  without  through  the  gloom.  The  noise 
of  drunken  revel  ceased  abruptly.  Then  there  were 
oaths,  cries  of  "  Fire  !  fire !"  Suddenly  Ance  also 
shouted,  "  Fire !  fire  !"  and,  throwing  the  door  wide 
open,  cried,  "  Run  in,  Wilson,  and  stay  by  him. 
Shoot  him  if  he  runs.     Quick !" 

Wilson  obeyed,  made  a  hasty  rush  into  the  cabin, 
caught  on  the  deer-thong,  and  fell  headlong  with  a 
curse.  Riverius  leaped  over  him  as  a  deer  leaps, 
and  before  the  guard  could  regain  his  rifle  was  off 
and  away  into  the  woods  on  his  right.  A  single 
shot  passed  high  above  him  as  Ance  fired.  He 
made  for  the  river  direct  and  with  rash  indifference 
to  exposure.  As  he  crossed  an  open  space,  he  was 
seen  in  the  growing  light,  the  night  itself  being 
none  too  dark,  and  the  ping,  ping  of  two  rifle-balls 
perilously  close  did  not  lessen  his  speed.  He  tore 
off  his  boots  and  plunged  in,  waded  some  thirty 
feet,  struck  wild  water,  and  in  a  moment  was  fight- 
ing for  life  in  the  white  rush  of  the  rapids.  Then 
he  let  fall  his  boots.  For  two  long  minutes  he  was 
rolled  over,  tumbled  about,  hustled  against  rocks. 
Once  his  head  struck,  and  for  a  moment  he  wi\s 
dazed,  and  then  a  vast  surge  lifted  him,  with  strong 
tenderness  over  a  great  boulder,  and  at  once  he  was 
in  swift  but  quiet  water.  E[e  shook  the  moisture 
from  his  face  a,u4  h^ir  and  passed  a  hand  over  his 
eyes  to  clear  his  sight.     He  was  flying  with  dan- 


260  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

gerous  speed  down  the  black  hurry  of  the  stream. 
He  looked  about  him,  and  saw  only  leaping  jets  of 
spray,  black  wood-masses,  and  over  all,  behind  him 
and  to  left,  a  splendor  of  ruddy  light  on  high  and 
here  and  there  quick  spurts  of  name  and  mounting 
sparks.  Then  ahead  he  caught  sight  of  white 
water,  and  struck  out  for  the  mid-current.  With 
a  vast  effort  he  won  the  wild  crest,  sure  that  to  fail 
was  death.  The  last  rapid  had  been  child's  play  to 
this.  It  was  brief.  There  was  one  fierce  shoot, 
with  a  fall  of  fifteen  feet.  It  was  like  a  drop 
through  the  air.  He  shot  under,  and  came  up 
breathless  and  exhausted.  The  rest  was  easy.  He 
kept  his  head  straight,  and  gradually  worked  shore- 
ward. He  seemed  to  be  in  a  narrow  vale  of  black 
water,  the  shores  close  in  on  him,  the  sky  as  it  were 
down  almost  upon  him.  He  was  clear-headed 
enough  to  wonder  at  the  delusion.  Then  he  saw 
the  slope  of  Laurel  Mountain,  and  the  sharp  line 
of  the  lumber-slide  where  it  crossed  a  gorge.  Sud- 
denly he  struck  bottom.  He  had  been  needlessly 
swimming  in  two  feet  of  water.  At  last,  tired  out 
and  bruised,  he  rolled  himself  on  shore  and  sat 
down  to  rest.  The  glow  behind  him  was  now  mag- 
nificent. A  vast  glory  of  rich  ruby  light  flared 
upward,  and,  cloud-caught,  flooded  all  the  sky.  He 
wondered.  Some  one  had  fired  the  woods.  Two 
rainless  months,  the  leaves  sapless,  the  floor  of  pine- 
needles,  the  very  earth  dry,  the  wind  raging  furi- 
ously through  the  trees  overhead.  The  woods 
would  burn  to  the  river,  and  quicker  to  the  east- 
ward.    There  was  ruin  to  many,  risk  to  not  a  few. 


FAR  IN   THE  FOREST.  261 

Enormous  loss,  centuries  of  growth  gone,  to  save 
a  single  life.  Who  had  done  it  ?  Even  in  his  still 
present  peril  the  vastness  of  the  sacrifice  excited 
his  imagination.  At  last,  thoughtful,  alert  and 
rested,  he  struggled  up  the  mountain,  hurting  his 
feet  and  plunging  through  the  tangle  of  the  vigor- 
ous laurels.  After  an  hour,  he  won  the  farther  spur, 
and  found  himself  near  the  top,  and  at  the  door  of 
Vickers's  cabin.  He  cast  himself  down  on  the 
ground  and  felt  safe  for  the  first  time.  The  spur 
he  was  on  rose  nearly  nine  hundred  feet  above  the 
river,  and  back  of  it,  broken  by  abrupt  ravines,  the 
country  gradually  fell  away,  a  sloping  table-land. 
The  main  mountain  dropped  more  precipitously 
to  the  Alleghany,  and  parallel  to  its  course  was 
cleft  by  the  deep  rocky  gorges  which  had  caused 
Riverius  to  suggest  a  slide  as  the  readiest  means 
of  getting  logs  to  the  water. 

Now  and  then,  glancing  out  at  the  ominous  and 
growing  light  of  the  burning  woods,  the  German  sat 
in  thought.  The  wind  was  blowing  more  and  more 
fiercely.  This,  he  reflected,  would  probably  keep 
the  fire  away  from  Mrs.  Preston's  clearing,  which 
covered  some  two  hundred  acres,  and  where  great 
precautions  had  been  taken  against  the  spread  of 
fire.  She  and  Paul  were  safe  at  least  for  the  time ; 
but  it  was  quite  possible  that,  as  the  sparks  mounted, 
upper  currents  might  scatter  them  far  and  wide  and 
mysteriously  light  at  a  distance  new  and  destruc- 
tive fires.  As  for  himself,  he  had  little  fear.  There 
would  be  nobody  to  trouble  him  so  long  as  this 
remorseless  blaze  endangered  camps,  cattle,  oxen, 


262  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

wood-sleds,  and  the  rough  homes  of  men.  But  he 
was  flying  from  the  suspicion  of  murder.  Life, 
happy  life,  would  be  out  of  the  question  until  that 
matter  was  settled  and  the  murderer  known.  Im- 
agination poisoned  for  him  all  the  sweet  future.  It 
is  at  times  a  cruel  scourge  to  the  refined  and  gentle. 
He  seemed  to  himself  to  be  involved  personally  in 
the  train  of  consequences  that  had  led  to  Miriam's 
death.  Had  he  but  waited  a  day  longer,  it  would 
not  have  been.  Had  he  less  desired  to  help  her,  no 
suspicion  could  have  touched  him.  How  soon  after 
he  left  did  it  occur  ?  How  could  a  man  have  done 
so  brutal  a  deed  ?  Could  any  set  of  contingencies 
ever  lead  him  to  do  such  an  act?  Suddenly  he 
shivered.  It  was  in  part  from  the  growing  chill  in 
the  night  air  at  that  height,  and  in  part  because  he 
had  a  sudden  realization  of  the  fact  that  a  man  who 
had  not  done  a  murder  might  come  to  believe  he 
had  done  it.  He  recoiled  as  from  a  precipice, 
leaped  to  his  feet,  and  began  to  walk  to  and  fro. 
He  had  the  fortunate  intellectual  training  which 
enables  a  man  to  drive  back  to  their  caves  the  wild 
beasts  of  morbid  emotion  and  to  keep  them  penned. 
The  exercise  helped  him.  At  last  he  went  into  the 
cabin,  found  a  blanket,  and  lay  down  on  the  floor, 
dragging  over  him  a  worn  buffalo-robe  and  some 
dead  boughs  meant  for  kindling.  He  could  not 
sleep,  but  the  warming  body  helped  the  mind  to 
wholesomeness,  and  he  lay  and  thought  of  Bessy 
Preston. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

When  Paul  and  his  mother,  avoiding  the  camp- 
fires,  slipped  aside  and  went  into  the  woods,  the 
riotous  noise  around  the  fires  was  at  its  worst,  and 
oaths  and  loud  words  and  broken  songs  were  in  the 
pleasant  night  air,  and  were  blown  to  her  ear  by 
the  growing  wind  which  pursued  her  steps. 
"  Come,  Paul,"  she  said.  "  Could  God  have  made 
such  beasts  ?" 

The  boy  was  singularly  resolute.  He  was  all  of 
the  mother,  and  more,  and  none  of  the  weaker 
father.  He  understood  her  well,  and  had  a  boy's 
indifference  to  the  consequences  of  what  they  were 
about  to  do. 

At  last  they  paused  some  five  hundred  yards  or 
more  from  the  clearing.  "  Now,  mother,"  he  said. 
"  If  Ance  is  to  get  him  off,  we  must  make  sure. 
Look  here.  We'll  set  long  bits  of  birch  sloped  this 
way  against  a  dozen  trees.  Then  we  can  light  the 
farthest  from  the  river  and  touch  off"  each  as  we  go 
down  the  slope.  You  take  the  four  nearest  the 
river, — any  ones.  They  are  all  big  birches  and 
pretty  ragged.  The  bit  of  bark  will  take  a  little 
time  to  burn  up  to  the  trunk.  Now,  mother.  Be 
quick,  and  keep  me  in  sight.  The  boat  is  right 
below,  if  they  follow  un  ;  but  they  won't.  Now." 
He  leaned  down  and  very  coolly  adjusted  the  slips 
of  bark.     "  Ready  ?"  he  said. 


264  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

There  was  the  sputter  and  yellow  flame  of  matches 
struck.  In  a  few  seconds  a  dozen  little  innocent 
spires  of  rich,  crimson  flame  were  climbing  up 
the  bark.  He  was  at  her  side,  and  looked  back. 
"  By  George !"  he  cried.  In  an  instant  a  half- 
dozen  trees  were  ablaze.  The  loose  ragged  bark 
of  the  birch,  always  inflammable,  was  now  as  dry  as 
if  baked.  The  beautiful  wild  flame  rose  instantly 
with  a  furious  howl  to  the  top  of  the  tree,  a  thing 
to  be  remembered  when  once  seen  and  heard. 
"  Run !"  he  said,  for  she  stood  as  if  paralyzed  with 
terror  by  the  demon  they  had  set  free.  The  forest 
was  like  day  with  an  unearthly  red,  and  the  shadows 
of  trees  flashed  out  black  as  jet  across  the  dry 
woodland  floor.  As  they  fled,  behind  them  the 
roar  of  the  flame  as  it  leaped  and  caught  and 
ruined  each  great  birch  was  repeated  over  and 
over.  He  pulled  her  down  the  steep  bank.  Then 
he  half  cocked  his  rifle,  which  he  had  kept  ready, 
and  waited.  The  sound  of  drunken  orgy  suddenly 
ceased  to  load  the  air  with  curses.  Loud  cries 
were  heard,  and  three  rifle-shots,  as  her  grip  on 
Paul's  arm  tightened,  and  she  prayed  as  women 
rarely  pray. 

"  He's  off,  sure,"  said  Paul.  "  Come,  let's  get 
back ;  and  be  careful,  mother,  and  don't  take  hold 
of  me.  Mind,  I  shall  shoot  if  any  one  says  a  word 
to  you." 

"  Don't,  if  you  can  help  it,"  she  said. 

As  they  walked  up  the  stream,  unknown  to  them 
the  kindly  water  bore  past  them  in  the  darkness 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  265 

what  she  loved  best  on  earth.  Opposite  their  cabin 
they  went  up  from  the  bank. 

"  Ask  no  questions,  Paul." 

"  Of  course,"  he  said. 

The  camp-fires  were  deserted.  In  vain  hope  the 
men,  under  Rollins's  lead,  had  gone  into  the  woods 
to  fight  the  fire.  Bessy  and  Paul  gained  the  house 
readily,  and  stood  at  the  door. 

"  Let  me  go  and  see  if  he's  off,"  he  said. 

"  Not  a  step.  Wait.  It  is  in  God's  hands  now. 
Put  away  that  rifle." 

He  did  so,  and  came  back.  The  roar  from 
the  burning  wood  no  man  could  hear  without 
some  sense  of  fear.  The  wind  leaped  on  it  as 
with  a  living  thing's  delight,  and  drove  the  flame 
in  great  flaring  masses  from  tree  to  tree.  Acres 
were  ablaze.  The  pines  beyond  the  birch  grove 
tossed,  writhed,  and  blazed,  exuding  resinous  sap 
to  feed  the  fire.  Beneath,  the  dry  pine-needles 
carried  it  far  and  wide  with  a  speed  past  belief. 
There  was  something  like  the  energy  of  life  in 
the  rage  with  which  the  fire  did  its  work,  now 
rising  in  cruel  splendor  high  in  heaven,  now,  as 
if  mysteriously  eager,  darting  in  long  blasts  of 
ruin  through  the  open  spaces.  Over  all  rose, 
black  and  awful,  a  growing,  rolling  shaft  of  dense 
smoke,  and,  spreading  out  above  in  a  black  dome, 
rosy  with  reflections  from  beneath  and  starred 
with  sparks  and  gusts  of  flame  which  seemed  to 
burn  in  mid-air,  spread  and  spread  wider  and 
more  wide. 

"  It  is  awful,  my  son,"  she  said. 


20 G  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  We  did  it  well,  mother.  I  must  know  about 
Mr.  Riverius." 

"  Wait." 

Presently  her  patient  courage  had  its  reward. 
Two  men  came  out  of  the  woods  and  passed 
quickly  before  them. 

"  This  is  awful  business,  Mrs.  Preston.  There 
won't  be  a  tree  from  here  to  Damson's  Ferry. 
You're  pretty  safe,  unless  the  wind  turns." 

"  Must  'a'  bin  sot  afire,"  said  the  other  man. 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  said  Wilson.  "  It's  bin 
done  o'  purpose." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Riverius  ?"  she  said.  She  could 
bear  the  suspense  no  longer. 

"  You  won't  be  sorry  to  know  he  got  away." 

"  Indeed !" 

"  I  missed  him,  that's  a  fact.  It  was  a  trick,  the 
whole  thing.  I  'ain't  bin  back  yet  to  look,  but 
there  was  somethin'  tripped  me  at  the  door,  and  I 
didn't  wait  to  see.  We  came  for  axes.  Come, 
Joe.  This  fire'll  bust  up  Rollins."  And  they 
hastened  away  towards  the  burning  forest. 

"  George  !"  said  the  boy,  "  Rollins  will  suffer  for 
to-day's  work;  and  I'm  not  sorry,  either." 

"Hush,  Paul.  Run  up  to  his  cabin  and  see. 
Bring  any  papers  you  can  find,  and  his  note-books 
on  the  table.     Stop,  I'll  come  too." 

They  ran  across  the  deserted  open  space,  and 
entered,  Paul  first.  He  fell  over  the  deer-thong. 
"Look  out,"  he  said.  "  Mother,  that  was  clever." 
And  he  explained  it  to  her  as  she  stood. 

"  Get  it  off.     Hide  it,"  she  said.     He  cut  it  away 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  267 

and  put  it  in  his  pocket  as  she  came  in,  and,  strik- 
ing a  match,  lit  a  candle.  At  once  they  gathered 
up  papers,  note-books,  and  a  portfolio  which  was 
locked.  "  Take  them,  Paul."  And  he  sped  away. 
Then  she  stood  alone.  It  was  the  first  time  she 
had  been  by  herself  in  the  cabin.  "  God  bless  and 
keep  you  !"  she  prayed,  and  went  out. 

A  half-hour  later,  Rollins  came  back  with  Ance 
and  some  other  men,  and,  black  with  smoke,  en- 
tered her  dwelling.  He  sat  down,  exhausted,  while 
the  men  stood  about. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ?"  said  Bessy. 

"  Where  were  you  when  this  fire  started,  Mrs. 
Preston  ?" 

"  In  the  house,"  she  said,  calmly. 

"  And  this  boy  ?" 

"  In  the  house  also." 

"  I'd  hang  him  up  a  bit  and  find  out,"  said  a 
man,  the  foreman  of  Rollins's  gang. 

"  What !  a  boy  like  that  ther  ?"  exclaimed  Ance. 
" Not  ef  I  know  it."  There  was  a  murmur  of 
dissent. 

"  You  are  fools,"  said  Mrs.  Preston.  "  Do  you 
think  I  want  to  see  my  woods  afire  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  returned  Rollins.  "  For  a  turn 
of  a  cent,  I'd  do  it.  I'd  know  someway.  I'm  a 
ruined  man.  Thirty  years  of  work  clean  gone. 
Hang  him  ?     I'd  hang  you  if  I  was  sure." 

"  Coward !"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  this  won't  do,  Rollins !"  cried  a  man, 
coming  forward. 

"  And  that's  what  I  say,"  added  Ance. 


268  FAR   IN   THE   FOREST. 

Opinion  was  against  him,  and  Rollins  doggedly 
went  out. 

"  Guess  Ryverus  he  got  off,"  said  Ance,  boldly. 

"  And  there's  no  time  to  look  for  him,  nuther," 
said  another. 

Meanwhile,  Rollins  began  to  give  orders  as  to 
his  distant  camp  and  oxen,  and  sent  men  away  up 
the  river  to  do  what  they  could.  In  an  hour  the 
cabin  was  left  silent,  and  Becky,  Paul,  and  his 
mother  sat  watching  the  growth  of  the  blaze  which 
the  two  latter  had  started.  Ance  accepted  a  mis- 
sion from  Rollins,  but  soon  turned  aside,  struck  for 
the  river,  and  in  an  hour  or  so  was  at  his  own 
cabin. 

When  the  men  had  gone,  Becky  persuaded  Mrs. 
Preston  to  lie  down  for  the  few  hours  left  of  the 
night,  promising  to  keep  awake  and  be  watchful. 
Paul  declared  that  he  would  keep  her  company, 
but  before  long  sunk  down  on  the  boards  of  the 
little  piazza  which  sheltered  the  front  of  the  cabin, 
and  was  soon  lost  in  sleep.  Becky  covered  him 
with  a  blanket,  tucked  another  under  his  head,  and 
sat  staring  at  the  enormous  dome  of  rosy  gold 
above  the  still  growing  fire.  There  was  less  wind, 
and  the  smoke  and  flame  went  up  straight  in  air, 
not  yet  so  far  away  that  Becky  could  not  hear  the 
dull  roar  and  catch  at  times  the  explosive  sound  of 
some  suddenly-heated  tree  split  by  the  swift  boiling 
of  its  sap. 

The  woman  had  been  but  a  spectator  at  the  play, 
and  was  capable  only  of  such  human  interests  as 
habit  gives,  appetites  command,  or  mere  animal 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  269 

curiosity  imparts.  Just  now,  she  was  a  little  dis- 
turbed. The  stillness  threatened  a  change  of  wind. 
All  her  life  she  had  lived  in  the  woods,  and  knew 
well  their  dangers.  The  fire  had  left  a  hundred 
yards  unburned  between  the  place  at  which  it 
started  and  the  clearing.  This  belt  was  now  slowly 
yielding  to  the  flames,  which,  however,  might  pos- 
sibly do  no  harm,  as  the  open  space  was  broad  and 
two  weeks  before  had  been  harrowed  over  to  de- 
stroy the  dry  grass  and  prepare  for  risk,  since  in 
all  that  land  no  man  had  passed  a  day  since  June 
without  fear  or  thought  of  this  dreaded  enemy. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

About  six  o'clock  Becky  awakened  Paul.  He 
started  up. 

"  What  is  it?"  he  said. 

"You'd  best  go  and  look  round  in  the  woods 
and  see  if  ther'  ain't  no  fire  goin'  to  start  'mong 
the  pines.  The  wind's  'most  stopped,  and  them 
sparks  is  a-droppin'.  It  might  rain  'fore  night. 
Don't  make  no  noise.  Yer  mother's  fell  asleep. 
I  was  in  to  see." 

"  I'll  go,"  he  said. 

He  made  a  complete  and  distant  circuit  in  the 
woods,  and  at  the  river  climbed  a  lightning-scathed 
pine.  A  hundred  feet  in  air  he  sat  astride  of  a  limb 
and  looked  in  growing  wonder.  Widening  from 
the  place  at  which  it  set  out,. the  fire  had  spread  to 
the  river,  and  inland  for  miles.  Par  away  it  still 
raged  under  mounting,  heaving  masses  of  smoke, 
which  now  and  then  burst  into  gigantic  gusts  of 
fire  high  in  air  as  the  gases  the  products  of  im- 
perfect combustion  were  sufficiently  heated  from 
below.  The  river-bed  was  full  of  smoke,  and  at 
times  to  left  he  could  see  the  sun,  an  umber  globe, 
and  sometimes  as  the  smoke  veil  on  the  river 
swirled  or  lifted  it  cast  on  the  water  the  same 
sombre  tint.  The  boy  recognized  in  the  vastness 
of  the  catastrophe  and  in  the  unusualness  of  the 
lights  and  colors  something  which  made  him  serious. 


FAR  IN  THE   FOREST.  271 

He  wondered  where  Riverius  was  now,  and  at  last 
descended.  Perhaps  he  had  taken  the  dug-out.  He 
would  look. 

As  he  approached  the  shore,  he  paused.  The 
pirogue  was  pulled  up,  and  in  it  asleep  lay  Phi- 
letus,  his  head  propped  on  a  stiff  bit  of  bark  set 
against  the  bow.  On  his  breast,  also  asleep,  and 
wrapped  in  his  blanket,  was  the  little  Ophelia.  Paul 
touched  him,  and  at  last  shook  him.  He  was  sleep- 
ing profoundly.  He  sat  up.  "  What's  that  ?"  he 
said. 

"  It  is  I,  Paul  Preston.  How  could  you  sleep  in 
this  smoke  ?  It's  awful."  The  child  was  coughing 
in  her  slumber. 

"  That's  so,"  returned  Philetus.  "  Got  to  get  out 
of  this." 

Phely  aroused  as  he  lifted  her.  "  Phely's  hun- 
gry," she  said.     "  Phely  wants  mother." 

"  Oh,  Lord  !"  groaned  Philetus. 

"  Come,"  said  Paul.  "  My  mother  will  get  her 
breakfast.     Come  along,  Phil." 

"You're  a  boy,  and  'ain't  no  reason.  Your 
mother  and  me  ain't  friends  no  more.  She  give  it 
to  me  hot  yesterday.     I'm  goin'  home." 

"  You  can't  do  it,  Phil.  It  isn't  safe  alone.  If 
the  wind  changes,  there  won't  be  a  tree  alive  down 
to  the  Ohio.  Wait  for  Consider.  He  said  he'd  be 
back;  and  Phely — the  child's  half  starved." 

"I'll  go,"  he  answered,  and  silently  followed 
Paul  through  the  thickening  smoke,  which  was  less 
oppressive  as  they  rose  above  the  stream. 

About  twenty  feet  from  the  cabin,  Philetus  sat 

18 


272  FAR  IN   THE   FOREST. 

down  on  a  stump.  "  Take  her  in,"  he  said,  "  and 
feed  the  maid.     I'll  bide  here." 

"  Come,  Phely,"  said  Paul.  He  did  not  question 
Phil's  decision,  and  meant  merely  to  report  it  to 
his  mother  and  leave  it  to  her.  Ophelia  was  easily 
comforted  by  Becky's  supplies,  and  Mrs.  Preston, 
after  hearing  from  Paul,  went  out  at  once  to  Phi- 
letus. 

She  was  happy  over  Riverius's  escape,  and  awed 
and  even  troubled  at  the  thing  she  had  done,  now 
that  the  need  for  action  had  passed  by.  It  was  as 
if  she  had  wakened  by  a  touch  an  earthquake  or 
some  such  enormous  physical  catastrophe  beyond 
the  common  power  of  mortal  summons.  Yester- 
day night  it  had  seemed  not  only  needful,  and  there- 
fore right,  but  also  a  just  and  delightful  vengeance. 
It  hurt  her,  too,  that  she  had  lied  to  Rollins  and 
before  Paul.  She  was  her  gentle  self  to-day,  hum- 
ble, thankful,  and  free  from  passion. 

"  Come  in  and  eat,  Philetus,"  she  said. 

"  Not  bite  or  sup  in  that  cabin.  You  'ain't  bin  no 
friend  of  mine.  You're  his  friend  that  murdered 
my  Miriam.  You  sot  them  woods  ablaze.  You 
done  it.  You  raised  that  hell-fire  that's  a-roarin' 
yonder.  May  it  find  him,  find  him,  and  burn  his 
body  and  scorch  his  soul !" 

Bessy  recoiled,  terrified.  "  You  are  foolish.  I, 
a  woman, — I  set  my  own  woods  afire  ?    Nonsense  !" 

"  Will  you  go  to  say  you  didn't  do  it  ?"  She 
could  not,  would  not  lie  again,  and  was  glad  that 
he  was  unable  to  see  her  face.  "  You  ain't  used  to 
lyin'.    You  done  it  well  to  Rollins.    I  heerd  about  it. 


FAR   IN    THE  FOREST.  273 

You  can't  lie  to  me.  The  Lord's  on  my  side.  He's 
a-listenin'.  When  you're  a-castm'  up  accounts  with 
him,  he  says  there's  a  murderer  loose,  there's  a  dead 
woman  a-lyin'  white  and  still,  there's  a  little  help- 
less thing  sayin'  'Mother!'  like  to  break  a  man's 
heart." 

"  Philetus,  it  is  useless  to  talk  to  you.  If  you 
say  that  I  set  that  wood  afire,  you  know  what  may 
come  of  it.  Leave  me  Ophelia,  and  go  home  with 
Consider.  I  hear  that  Mrs.  Rollins  went  there. 
When  all  is  settled,  come  back,  and  we  will  talk 
about  the  child.     I  want  to  help  her  and  you." 

He  stood  silent  a  moment.  "  I'm  that  dazed,  1 
don't  know.  I'm  a-seein'  red  all  the  while, — red 
like  blood.     Where's  that  man  Byverus  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Keep  the  child.     He  won't  hurt  her,  I  guess." 

"  You  are  worn  out,  Philetus.     You  want  food." 

"  Not  bite  or  sup  in  that  cabin." 

"  Well,  I'll  send  it  out  to  you." 

"  Not  in  nothin'  he's  touched." 

"  No." 

"  Then  I'll  take  it.  It  is  willed  that  we  should 
eat." 

She  left  the  distraught  old  man,  and  sent  him  his 
breakfast  by  Becky.  Then  he  waited  patiently  till 
Consider  came,  and  went  away  with  him  to  the 
desolated  cabin  and  the  dead  wife. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

When  Ance  entered  his  cabin,  he  looked  around, 
and,  seeing  no  one,  began  to  think  that  Riverius 
had  been  lost  in  the  river.  The  German  kept  silent, 
to  make  sure  in  the  darkness  before  he  spoke  that 
it  was  certainly  Yickers.  The  latter  stood  at  the 
door  and  lifted  a  glass  to  see  how  much  whiskey 
he  poured  out.  As  he  did  so,  Riverius  was  sure, 
and  said,  aloud,  "  Don't  do  that."  Ance  dropped 
flask  and  corn-cob  stopper,  and  turned. 

"You  skeered  me."     He  was  trembling. 

Riverius  rose.  "  You  must  not  drink.  We  shall 
both  want  clear  heads.  How  is  it  at  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton's?" 

"  Oh,  all  right;  but  them  woods  is  burnin'  like 
the  devil  was  a-blowin'  'em." 

"  Who  set  them  afire  ?     You  did  not  tell  me." 

"  Mrs.  Preston  and  Paul.  They  done  it  well, 
too." 

"Mrs.  Preston!"  murmured  Riverius.  Again 
he  owed  her  a  life,  but  now  no  sense  of  over- 
powering obligation  disturbed  him.  "  Ah  !  she  is 
worth  a  dozen  of  me,"  he  thought.  "Is  it  burning 
still  ?" 

"Burnin' !  You  bet;  and  it'll  burn  for  a  week, 
unless  the  rain  comes.  Mostly  them  big  fires 
fetches  rain.  Anyway,  it'll  keep  the  men  a-flyin' 
round  and  £jit  us  a  chance  to  leave.     We'd  best  lie 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  275 

by  here  two  or  three  days  and  then  take  to  the 
river." 

"  Could  you  carry  a  message  to  Mrs.  Preston  to- 
morrow ?" 

"  I  might." 

"  And  now  about  that  murder,  Ance, — if  it  was 
one.  I  have  heard  so  little.  I  want  to  understand 
it  all,  and  fully.     I  suppose  you  can  tell  me." 

They  were  seated,  the  one  on  a  rough  settle,  the 
other,  Ance,  on  the  bunk.  The  excitement  of  the 
escape,  the  fire,  and  the  need  for  action  had  in  a 
measure  helped  Vickers  to  put  away  sight  and 
present  memory  of  the  great  fair  woman  he  had 
left  in  a  pool  of  blood  on  the  floor.  Now  a  word 
had  brought  her  back  again.  And  yet  speak  he 
must. 

"  'Twas  an  accident.  That's  what  I  say.  No- 
body murdered  her." 

"  But  they  told  me  there  had  been  a  struggle, 
that  her  dress  was  torn,  her  apron  gone.  How 
could  it  have  been  an  accident  ?" 

"  Well,  there's  no  knowinV     He  thought  with 

gathering  horror   of  the   red-stained   apron.      If 

there  came  a  flood,  and  it  should  wash  away  the 

4 stone  and  the  thing  should  be  found!     Then  he 

reflected  that  it  could  tell  nothing  new. 

"  Where  was  she  shot  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  In  the  neck."  He  spoke 
impatiently,  and  was  in  fact  in  torment. 

"  Did  she  die  at  once  ?" 

"  Oh,  Lord!  how  do  I  know?  I  wasn't  there. 
Don't  ip.t's  talk  about  it." 


276  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  But  I  must  know.  I  must  talk.  It  is  needful. 
I  shall  never  rest  until  I  learn  who  did  it.  "Why 
cannot  you  see  that  I  am  forever  a  hunted,  ruined 
man  until  I  can  put  my  hand  on  the  brute  who 
killed  her?" 

"  It  won't  he  no  use.    It  wasn't  you,  that's  sure." 

Riverius  reflected  that  it  was  strange  how  this 
coarse,  dull-witted  man  should  be  almost  alone  and 
positive  in  this  belief. 

"  I  was  told  that  the  poor  little  child  found  her 
first.  How  pitiful  that  seems  !  Rollins  told  me 
most  of  it.  He  said  the  child  thought  the  blood 
was  paint.  How  horrible  !  And  to  call  her  mother 
and  get  no  answer  !" 

Ance  sat  in  the  darkness  writhing  and  twisting 
hands  wet  with  the  sweat  of  torture.  "  I  don't 
want  to  talk  about  it,  Mr.  Ryverus.  I  liked  that 
woman." 

"  No  one  can  like  to  talk  of  it ;  but  for  me  to 
think  it  over  and  learn  all  I  can  is  merely  a  reason- 
able effort  to  discover  the  true  murderer.  I  shall 
have  no  peace  till  I  find  him.  I  wish  I  could  see 
the  place  again.  A  little  thinking  it  over  there 
would  possibly  be  of  use.  What  will  become  of 
poor  old  half-crazy  Philetus  ?  I  think  that  blind 
man  standing  in  darkness  by  the  dead  body  and 
the  child  is  the  most  pitiful " 

"If  you  don't  stop,"  said  Ance,  "by  heaven 
I'll  kill  you !"     And  he  bounded  to  his  feet. 

A  sudden  wild  light  of  intelligent  insight  smote 
Riverius  as  with  a  rude  physical  buffet.  He  too 
arose. 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  277 

"  You  killed  that  woman,  Ance." 

"  Yes,  I  done  it." 

The  darkness  was  profound,  and  in  it  the  two 
men  stood  silent  a  moment. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Ance.  You  could  not  have 
meant  to  do  it." 

"  She  p'inted  the  rifle  at  me,  and  I  tried  to  take 
it  away.  It  went  off, — caught  somethin'.  Went 
off! — my  God !  it  went  off!  Didn't  I  say  it  wer' 
an  accident?" 

Riverius  guessed  the  rest.  He  was  mercifully 
silent.  As  to  Ance,  he  had  dropped  again  on  the 
bed.  The  confession  wrung  from  him  by  the  rack 
on  which  the  German's  successive  comments 
stretched  him  was  simply  an  indescribable  relief. 
He  had  told  it.  Another  knew  it.  He  had  been 
able  to  explain  it,  and  this  man,  this  haughty  gen- 
tleman, was  sorry  for  him,  pitied  him.  There  is 
inexplicable  mystery  in  such  solace,  and  it  is  very 
real.  It  left  Ance  disturbed  by  a  clearer  sense  of 
the  ruin  he  had  brought  to  Philetus.  At  last  he 
said,  "  What  will  you  do  now?" 

"  You  must  get  away,  Ance.  I  know  you  have 
told  me  the  truth.  'Now  I  see  why  you  wanted  to 
help  me." 

"  Lord,  sir,  you  don't  think  I'd  'a'  bin  that  mean 
to  let  'em  hang  you  for  what  I  didn't  go  to  do?  I 
ain't  that  bad." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  not."  Nevertheless,  it  is  to 
be  doubted  if  at  utmost  need  Ance  would  have 
done  other  than  obey  the  brute  instinct  of  self- 
preservation.    "  Once  out  of  this  country,  you  must 


278  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

find  some  way  to  clear  me.  I  will  think  it  over. 
I  believe  you  have  told  me  the  truth ;  and  if  you 
have  not,  I  must  leave  you  to  settle  that  with  God. 
Now  I  must  try  to  sleep  a  bit." 

"  All  right,  sir.     I'll  go  out,  and  keep  watch." 

Then  Riverius  lay  down  in  the  bunk,  and  at 
least  rested;  sleep  he  could  not.  Before  Ance's 
outburst,  the  German  had  begun  to  have  some 
vague  suspicion  of  the  truth.  For  a  moment  he 
nad  expected  a  life-and-death  struggle  with  the 
man  beside  him,  but  instantly  this  idea  was  dis- 
pelled, and  he  saw  clearly  that  the  confession  had 
left  him  in  a  measure  less  wretched.  He  himself 
was  now  forced  to  seek  and  keep  the  company  of 
the  slayer,  to  make  sure  that  in  the  end  the  truth 
should  be  made  apparent.  It  seemed  to  Riverius 
a  strange  fate.  For  suppose  that  Ance  had  lied, — 
and  the  business  had  been  bad  enough, — here  was 
he,  a  gentleman,  aiding  the  flight  of  a  murderer ! 
Nor  was  it  easy  to  see  how,  without  a  free  state- 
ment by  Ance,  Riverius  could  clear  his  own  good 
name. 

Despite  the  agony  Riverius  had  inflicted  on 
Vickers,  and  the  perilous  confession  wrung  from 
him,  the  woodman  did  not  for  a  moment  fear 
that  the  German  would  betray  him.  This  was 
characteristic  of  Ance,  that  he  looked  for  fair  play. 
He  did  not  ask  for  any  pledge,  but  early  next  morn- 
ing went  quietly  away  on  his  errand  to  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton. Not  having  even  a  pencil,  Riverius  had  been 
forced  to  send  only  a  verbal  message. 

By  Yickers's  advice   he  shut   and   secured   the 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  219 

cabin  from  within,  and  waited  impatiently  for  his 
return.  The  day  seemed  of  disoal  length.  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  It  recorded  only  the  hour  of 
his  plunge  into  the  rapids.  He  opened  it  and  set 
it  in  the  dulled  sunlit  window  to  dry,  and  glanced 
at  it  now  and  then  to  see  if  it  would  revive  and  go 
to  work  again.  Ance  had  warned  him  not  to 
smoke.  That  was  hard.  He  watched  a  spider  and 
rescued  a  fly, — why,  he  could  not  have  said.  The 
spider  should  live,  he  reflected,  and,  if  not  con- 
structed to  eat  turnips,  what  right  had  he,  Riverius, 
to  stop  him  in  the  mid-joy  of  successful  fly-stab- 
bing ?  When  a  mosquito  fell  next  to  the  spider, 
the  German  looked  on  unmoved,  remembering  that 
things  of  the  kind  destroyed  had  of  late  made  life 
a  little  harder  for  him.  Next  he  considered  as  to 
whether  this  justified  his  ceasing  to  act  as  an  in- 
tervening providence  as  against  spiders  and  in  the 
interest  of  flies  and  biting  things.  Comparisons 
between  these  deaths  and  the  tragedy  which  had 
involved  him  arose  in  his  mind,  and  he  reflected 
upon  all  the  vast  tyrannical  machinery  of  nature 
implacably  grinding  out  agony.  There  was  time 
indeed  for  philosophic  thought  such  as  Eiverius 
well  loved,  but  he  laughed  when  over  and  over 
amidst  some  prospering  well-linked  success  in 
binding  cause  and  consequence  the  sweet  notes  of 
an  old  love-song  rang  in  joyful  riot  through  his 
brain.  Then  of  a  sudden  Bessy  was  there  before 
him  in  almost  natural  distinctness,  with  that  pride 
which  made  her  gentle,  and  such  supple  grace  of 
timid  womanhood  as  led  him  to  reflect  with  wonder 


280  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

at  the  courage  she  had  shown.  Riverius  had,  like 
some  proud  men,  hidden  deep  down  in  his  heart  the 
over-sensitive  sentiment  of  a  girl.  He  did  not  want 
this  sweet  company  here  in  the  brute  woodman's 
cabin.  He  would  have  taken  it  with  him  out  into 
the  woods,  if  it  had  not  been  that  he  desired  to  run 
no  risks  for  Yickers.  At  last  he  fell  asleep,  tired, 
and  yet  not  unhappy. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  Ance  reached  Mrs. 
Preston's.  Presently  he  saw  Paul,  and  said,  cau- 
tiously, "  Who's  about,  Paul  ?" 

"  "No  one  but  mother,  and  Becky  out  in  the  corn- 
field. Rollins  hasn't  come  back,  nor  the  men,  ex- 
cept Consider,  and  he  has  taken  Phil  over  home. 
They  are  going  to  bury  Miriam  out  under  the  pines 
down  near  the  brook.  Mother  wanted  to  go,  but 
I  told  her  she  had  better  not."  Paul  was  much 
impressed  just  now  with  his  own  importance. 

"  She  didn't  go  ?" 

"  No.  Isn't  it  awful,  Ance  ?  You  ought  to  have 
seen  poor  old  Phil.  He's  just  like — well,  just  like 
a  bird  with  a  broken  wing.  It's  awful,  Ance  !  He 
is  so  helpless,  you  know ;  and  if  Consider  was  to 
go  off  anywhere,  I  don't  know  what  he  would  do. 
He  was  asking  for  you.  He  says  you  and  Con  are 
his  only  friends." 

"He  said  that!" 

"  Yes.     Come  in." 

Ance  followed  him.  The  bearded  red  face  was 
haggard  and  strangely  white.  The  eyes  were 
watchful  and  restless.  He  looked  about  and  now 
and  then  behind  him.    At  the  door  he  met  Ophelia. 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  281 

"  How  you  do,  Ance  ?"  she  said.  "  Where's  my 
father  ?     Where's  mother  ?" 

"  At  home,"  he  answered,  hoarsely. 

"  Take  me  home.  Phely  wants  to  see  her. 
Phely  is  very  good  to-day.  Ride  Phely  on  your 
shoulder." 

Ance,  like  many  rough  men,  had  a  liking  for 
children;  they  made  some  mysterious  appeal  to 
him ;  and  at  Richmond's  house,  when  present  with 
Philetus,  he  had  been  fond  of  playing  with  the 
child,  and  could  too  well  remember  how  often 
Miriam  had  watched  them,  displeased  at  his  pres- 
ence. An  overwhelming  sense  of  the  moral  lone- 
liness which  crime  inflicts  came  upon  him.  He 
liked  company,  as  men  do  who  lack  interior  re- 
sources, and  yet  felt  that  now  it  was  to  be  feared. 
He  longed  to  talk  of  his  misery,  and  dreaded  op- 
portunity. A  horrible  desire  to  tell  the  child  arose 
in  his  mind.  He  made  no  reply  to  her  appeals,  but 
went  by  her  in  haste,  she  clinging  to  his  jacket  and 
calling,  "  Ance,  Ance,"  as  she  danced  beside  him. 
"When  will  Ance  come  to  see  mother  again?" 

"  Take  her  away,  Paul,"  said  the  man.  "  Where 
is  your  mother?     I  'ain't  got  no  time  to  lose." 

Paul  secured  the  attention  of  the  little  one  as  his 
mother  appeared  from  her  own  room,  and  went  out 
with  her  at  a  sign  from  Mrs.  Preston. 

"  Sit  down,  Ance,"  she  said.  "  Is  there  news 
yet?" 

"  He  is  in  my  cabin,  safe  as  long  as  the  fire  lasts. 
Rollins  and  the  rest's  got  the'r  hands  full.  Further 
away  it  gits  the  better  fur  him.     'Bout  Saturday 


282  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

ther'  ain't  no  moon  to  speak  on,  and  then  I'll  git 
him  down  the  river.  Two  days'  run'll  clear  us.  He 
said  I  was  to  tell  you  it  was  all  right." 

"  Why  did  he  not  write  ?" 

"  He  hadn't  nothin'  to  write  with." 

"  He  will  have  to  hide  to-day  and  until  day  after 
to-morrow  night." 

"  If  the  men  git  round,  he'll  have  to  lay  by  longer. 
I  ain't  goin'  to  run  no  resk."  Then  he  paused. 
"  Did  Paul  cut  away  that  air  deer-thong  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  he  done  me  a  service.  Wilson  he  come 
back  and  looked.  You  ought  to  'a'  heerd  him 
tellin'  the  men  how  Ryverus  tripped  him  up."  And 
Ance  grinned  and  was  suddenly  surprised  at  his 
own  mirth. 

"  I  owe  you  a  great  debt,"  she  said,  rising  and 
seeking  his  hand.  He  took  it  eagerly.  "  A  debt 
I  shall  never  forget, — never.  If  ever  I  can  help 
you,  I  will  do  it.     Do  you  want  money  ?" 

"No;  Mr.  Ryverus  he's  got  lots,  he  says." 

"  One  thing  more.  Don't  drink,  Ance.  I  can't 
help  thinking  it  was  some  drunken  lumberman  did 
that  awful  thing.  Think  how  he  must  feel.  I 
should  think  it  would  punish  him  enough  only  to 
see  poor  old  Phil  and  that  child." 

"  Ef  he  was  drunk  it  wouldn't  be  the  same  as  ef 
he  was  sober." 

"  No ;  but  every  wise  man  ought  to  know  that 
there  is  murder  and  every  other  crime  in  the 
whiskey-jug.  For  God's  sake,  don't  drink  any 
more.     Let  this  thing  warn  you.      Philetus  likes 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  283 

you,  and,  so  far,  you  have  only  used  his  liking  to 
make  him  drink." 

"  That's  so.     I  don't  deny  it  none." 

"And  did  he  not  save  your  life  once?  I  have 
heard  so." 

"  Yes." 

"Promise  me." 

"I'll  never  touch  liquor  ag'in,  so  help  me  God!" 

"  And  come  over  to-morrow,  if  you  can." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  ef  I  kin."  He  went  out,  and  by 
and  by  came  back.  "  You've  got  to  look  sharp 
for  '  drop-fires,'  Mrs.  Preston.  Them  sparks  goes 
up,  and  comes  down  a  man  don't  know  where.  It's 
bin  a  awful  fire.  The  old  burned  tracks  stayed  it 
to  the  easterd;  but  you  can't  tell." 

"  How  far  will  it  burn,  Ance  ?" 

"  Lord  knows."  She  stood  thoughtful  as  he 
went  out.  In  the  air  he  paused,  took  off  his  cap, 
looked  up,  and,  as  if  registering  an  oath,  said, 
"  I've  touched  my  last  liquor.  Hadn't  bin  for 
liquor,  it  mightn't  of  bin."  Then  he  walked  over 
to  Ophelia,  picked  her  up,  kissed  her,  and  set  her 
down. 

"  Mother  says  Phely  mustn't  kiss  you.  Mother 
says  you're  bad." 

"  I  was,"  he  said,  and  walked  away,  Paul  mean 
while  looking  after  him,  puzzled  and  curious. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

Ance  did  not  return.  To  avoid  suspicion,  he 
found  it  needful  to  see  Rollins  and  ask  for  some 
work.  Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Preston  became  more 
ani  more  anxious.  Now  and  then  a  lumberman 
came  by,  and  she  learned  to  her  comfort  that  Rive- 
rius  had  not  been  heard  from,  and  that  the  fire 
had  been  checked  by  old  burnt  districts  and  the 
river.  An  immense  belt  of  ruin,  however,  lay  to 
the  northeast,  and  oxen,  sleds,  and  cabins  had  gone. 
As  yet  a  heavy  pall  of  smoke,  now  high  in  air, 
hung  over  the  whole  land,  and  all  things  looked 
strange  in  the  sallow  sunlight  which  filtered  through 
it.  As  the  dry  weather  persisted,  there  was  still 
peril  and  alarm,  and  every  one  knew  that  at  any 
moment  the  fire  might  renew  its  ravage.  Philetus 
was  still  absent,  and  the  child's  pretty  and  incessant 
talk  disturbed  and  annoyed  Mrs.  Preston.  At  last, 
on  the  third  day,  Paul  proposed  to  take  the  little 
one  to  pick  berries.     His  mother  gladly  assented. 

"  Where  will  you  go  ?"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  down  to  Laurel  Mountain." 

"  This  side  only." 

"  Yes ;  they're  plenty  in  the  lower  gorge." 

"Well,  don't  go  far,  and  on  no  account  on  the 
mountain." 

She  had  told  Paul  nothing  of  Riverius's  place  of 
hiding,  thinking  it  best  to  keep  it  to  herself.     He 


FAR   IN   THE  FOREST.  285 

only  knew  that  their  friend  had  escaped.  The 
charge  against  him  made  but  slight  impression  on 
Paul,  and  his  mother,  refusing  to  discuss  it,  had 
scornfully  put  the  matter  aside.  She  had  at  once 
said,  as  she  had  done  to  Ance,  that  the  death  of 
Miriam  lay  at  the  door  of  some  one  of  the  many 
villains  who  found  in  the  woods  a  shelter  and  a 
means  of  living  out  of  reach  of  the  civilization 
which  had  been  too  restrictive  for  their  wants  or 
passions. 

Riverius  was  much  on  Paul's  mind,  and  now  he 
went  away  with  Ophelia  thoughtful  of  his  friend 
and  gladly  relieving  his  mother  of  the  child,  whose 
talk  of  the  dead  Miriam  more  and  more  disturbed 
Mrs.  Preston  as  her  gathering  anxiety  for  Riverius 
increased.  She,  too,  understood  very  well  the  doubt- 
ful position  he  now  held.  She  reasoned  on  it,  how- 
ever, with  less  pain  than  it  gave  him,  and  was  more 
concerned  as  to  his  present  safety. 

As  Paul  and  Ophelia  wandered  along,  the  boy 
gave  himself  up  at  last  to  her  pretty,  caressingly 
persistent  ways,  and  ceased  to  think  of  the  German, 
the  murder,  or  the  fire.  On  the  lower  slopes  the 
huckleberries  were  still  abundant.  After  a  while 
they  climbed  a  little,  and,  as  usual  at  this  season,, 
found  the  berries  still  more  plenty  as  they  rose. 
At  last  Paul  sat  down  and  leaned  back  against 
a  mossy  old  beech-trunk.  It  was  very  comfort- 
able, and  the  fair  Ophelia  had  quite  exhausted 
him  by  her  quest  for  berries  and  her  craving  for 
attention.  lie  watched  her  awhile  as  she  went  to 
and  fro,  pleased  with  the  tints  of  the  sumach,  and 


286  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

gathering  the  leaves  of  reddening  gum-trees.  Now 
and  then  the  smoke,  which  everywhere  since  the 
fire  began  was  at  times  unpleasantly  thick,  became 
somewhat  more  dense.  The  afternoon  had  worn 
away,  and  now,  although  it  was  but  six  o'clock,  the 
day  seemed  near  its  close.  Looking  up,  Paul  saw 
that  the  sky  was  overcast,  and  noted  here  and  there 
in  the  woods  the  trees  swaying  in  little  gusts  of 
wind  which  appeared  to  blow  up  the  river,  and 
which,  as  he  lay  and  thought,  seemed  to  him  to  ex- 
plain the  increase  of  the  smokiness,  now  very  ob- 
vious. It  would  rain,  perhaps,  and  that  was  all — or 
at  least  the  last  thing — he  could  afterwards  recall. 
For  three  nights  he  had  been  up  late  and  risen  early. 
Twice  he  had  been  aroused  by  Becky  or  his  mother 
and  sent  out  to  see  if  the  "  drop-fires"  had  by  chance 
fallen  anywhere  near  them.  His  head  fell.  He 
half  roused  himself,  saw  Phely  near  by,  fell  off 
again,  and  slept  as  only  a  tired  boy  can  sleep. 
When  at  last  he  awakened,  he  leaped  to  his  feet 
in  alarm.  The  air  was  more  full  of  smoke.  It 
seemed  to  be  moving  towards  him  in  irregular 
currents.  Overhead  the  sky  was  darkening  fast 
with  the  gathering  clouds  of  a  summer  thunder- 
storm. Now  and  then  sudden  puflfs  of  wind  shook 
the  lower  trees  about  him,  and  overhead  the  tall 
trees  swayed,  roaring  in  the  strong  upper  currents 
of  the  coming  storm.  Ophelia  was  gone.  He 
looked  about  him,  searching  the  vistas  in  vain. 
He  called  aloud,  but  got  no  answer.  He  ran  hither 
and  thither,  sadly  perplexed,  and  full  of  self-re- 
proaches.    At  last,  in  despair,  he  climbed  a  dead 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  287 

tree  and  called  again  and  again.  Then  he  heard, 
or  thought  he  heard,  a  faint  cry  from  the  steep 
slope  above.  Meanwhile,  the  increasing  smoke 
which  came  over  the  hill  and  through  the  gorges 
alarmed  him.  There  must  have  been  a  new  lire 
awakened  by  the  aid  of  the  storm,  and  if  so  it 
wTould  surely  sweep  through  the  deep  ravines  full 
of  birches  and  pines  which  on  either  side  of  the 
mountain  lay  nearly  parallel  with  the  river.  He 
was  down  in  a  moment  and  away  up  the  hill.  As 
he  went,  swirls  of  smoke  came  around  the  moun- 
tain on  both  sides.  He  pushed  on,  increasingly 
anxious.  As  he  climbed  upward  he  saw  of  a 
sudden  a  dull  glare  of  light  on  his  left  and  far 
away.  He  called  anew,  and,  getting  no  answer, 
ran  on,  tearing  through  the  dense  laurels.  He  was 
now  on  the  granite  summit  of  a  lower  knob  of  the 
mountain,  which  still  rose  some  two  hundred  feet 
above  him.  He  could  dimly  see  at  times  through 
the  thickening  smoke  the  line  of  the  lumber-slide. 
He  shouted  till  he  was  hoarse,  and  set  out  down 
the  side  of  the  intervening  gorge.  Suddenly  a 
blast  of  smoke  nearly  blinded  him,  and  he  paused. 
It  was  hot,  and  the  sparks  were  falling  thick  about 
him,  whilst  the  wind  of  the  coming  tempest  roared 
in  the  pines  above  his  head.  He  saw  that  they 
came  directly  over  the  mountain-top.  At  last,  worn 
out,  he  stopped,  and  called  once  more.  As  he  stood, 
another  fierce  gust  went  over  him,  and  he  saw  be- 
tween him  and  the  river  a  half-dozen  birch-trees 
flaming  upwards  with  the  fierce  howl  he  knew  so 
well.    At  times  the  smoke,  heaving  like  sea-waves, 

19 


288  FAR  IN   THE  FOREST. 

revealed  again  and  again  these  plumes  of  fire,  all 
of  them,  as  he  guessed,  quite  near  the  river.  A 
moment  after,  he  reeled,  blinded,  coughing  and 
gasping  in  the  acrid  fumes.  This  time  it  was  si 
blast  from  around  the  landward  side  of  the  hill. 
He  fell  on  his  face  for  breathing-space,  knowing- 
well  that  the  heated  smoke  would  lie  above  him. 
For  the  time  he  was  safe,  and  more  easy.  A  foot 
or  more  above  his  head  the  air  was  almost  clear. 
He  drew  long  breaths,  and  gathered  himself  for 
decisive  action.  To  go  on  was  to  die,  unless  he 
could  win  the  bold  summit  before  the  fire  swept 
around  the  mountain,  and  then,  even  there,  he  felt 
that  he  would  not  be  able  to  decide  what  to  do, 
and  was  well  aware  that  he  had  no  time  to  lose. 
To  wait  was  impossible ;  and  Ophelia !  Meanwhile, 
as  he  lay,  he  heard  a  fierce  rush  through  the  laurels, 
and  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  flying  buck.  A  rabbit 
jumped  aside  from  his  lifted  head,  a  huge  rattle- 
snake fled  swiftly  by,  passing  under  his  arm,  eager 
only  to  escape,  careless  of  its  human  foe.  As  Paul 
rose,  fierce  lightning  flashed  overhead,  instantly 
followed  by  the  echoing  roll  of  thunder,  and  the 
storm-wind  rushing  over  the  rounded  mountain- 
top  drew  the  fire  into  the  traversing  gorges,  along 
which  it  swept  roaring  as  if  through  vast  chim- 
neys. The  heat  was  every  instant  greater,  and  over 
him  the  dusking  heavens  were  reddening  fast.  He 
still  hesitated.  His  inborn  hatred  of  defeat  was 
backed  by  a  terrible  sense  of  his  failure  to  care  for 
the  child.  Something  struck  his  arm.  It  was  a 
scorched,  half- choked  squirrel.    Tamed  by  the  fire, 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  289 

the  wild  little  savage  clung  to  his  arm.  The  next 
moment  a  man  shot  by  him  in  swift  flight  down  the 
hill.  Paul  called,  turning  as  he  did  so,  "  Halloo !" 
The  man  stopped  just  below  him,  out  of  sight  in 
the  dense  vapors. 

"  Who  is  it  ?     Where  are  you  ?" 

"  It's  Riverius,"  cried  Paul.  "  I,— -I !"  he  cried. 
"  It's  Paul !  I'll  come  !"  And  he  bounded  down 
the  rocks,  slipping,  and  at  last  rolled  over  at  the 
feet  of  the  German,  who  instantly  pulled  him  up. 

"  Come,"  he  said.  "  Quick,  at  once.  Run.  We 
have  not  a  minute  to  lose.  Mein  Gott,  what  a 
time !"  Paul  tried  to  speak,  but  choked  and  could 
only  obey.  And  now  to  either  side  the  woods  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away  were  ablaze,  and  over  them, 
here  and  there,  the  dry  pine-tops  were  aflame,  and 
sparks  and  lighted  twigs  falling  around  them  found 
new  fuel  in  the  dry  moss  and  half-baked  pine- 
needles.  At  last,  breathless,  they  won  the  lower 
levels  and  got  among  the  deciduous  maples.  The 
smoke  was  thinner,  the  trees  less  numerous.  They 
caught  glad  chests-full  of  clearer  air. 

Riverius  paused.     "  Where  is  your  mother  ?" 

Paul  pointed.     He  could  not  yet  speak. 

"  At  home.  We  must  reach  her.  She  must  cross 
the  river  at  once.  Every  stick  on  this  side  will  go. 
Come." 

"  Stop  !  stop  !"  the  boy  managed  to  cry  out. 

"Well,  quick." 

"  I  was  with  Phely.  I  fell  asleep.  She  got  away. 
I  lost  her.  Oh,  Mr.  Riverius,  it  was  my  fault.  I 
wish  I  was  dead  !" 


290  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  Dead  !  Himmel !  death  cures  no  mistakes. 
Come."  And  he  strode  away.  "  We  must  think 
of  your  mother.     Can  you  run  ?" 

They  bounded  over  the  snake  fence,  ran  across 
the  clearing,  and  then  met  Becky. 

"  Mrs.  Preston  she's  down  at  the  dug-out,"  she 
cried.  "  She  left  me  to  tell  Paul.  She  was  afeerd 
for  Paul."  The  woman  looked  curiously  at  Rive- 
rius.  "  I  wouldn't  go  over  the  river,"  she  said. 
"  Rollins  has  crossed,  and  I  see  Consider  and  Phil 
come  down  in  a  dug-out.  Guess  they'd  a  notion  to 
save  the  wood-shoot.  Anyways,  they're  there." 
And  she  pointed  across  the  Alleghany. 

"  Mein  gute  Becky,"  said  Riverius,  coolly,  "  to  he 
hanged  is  unpleasant;  to  be  burned  alive  worse. 
I  propose  neither.     Mind,  you  have  not  seen  me." 

"I  ain't  no  fool,  Mr.  Ryverus." 

"Good!" 

They  had  talked  as  they  hastened  towards  the 
Alleghany.  The  circuit  of  the  mountain  a  half- 
mile  away  to  left  was  a  belt  of  growing  flame,  least 
towards  the  river,  where  the  trees  were  mostly  ma- 
ples and  cherry.     At  the  boat  stood  Mrs.  Preston. 

"  Where  is  Ophelia  ?"  she  said. 

Paul  pointed  to  the  mountain  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Don't  talk  now,"  said  Riverius.  "  The  boy 
behaved  like  a  man, — like  a  brave  man. — Come, 
take  over  your  mother  and  Becky,  Paul.  Say  you 
are  going  back  for  these  blankets;  you  forgot 
them.  Leave  them  here,  Becky.  Now  off  with 
you,  Paul." 

As  he  spoke,  the  dug-out  shot  out  athwart  the 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  291 

stream.  The  smoke  rolling  up  the  river  hid  them 
from  view.  Caught  by  the  downward  rush  of  the 
rapids,  it  was  shot  upward  and  rolled  curling  over 
on  the  waves, — a  strange  sight  for  one  more  at  ease 
to  note  it.  "  Wet  something,"  he  called  after  them. 
"  Cover  your  mouths."  They  obeyed  him,  and 
were  gone  across  and  down  the  stream,  guided  by 
Paul's  agile  figure  and  quick-falling  pole.  Riverius 
threw  himself  on  the  edge  and  drew  long  breaths. 

In  an  hour  or  less,  Paul  came  back.  "  Now  up 
stream,"  said  Riverius,  leaping  into  the  boat  and 
seizing  a  pole.  "  I  will  leave  you  two  miles  above, 
at  Split  Rock.  To-night  about  ten  fetch  me  the 
dug-out,  and  I  will  risk  a  run  down  stream  alone." 
He  was  all  energy,  quiet  and  self-possessed.  As 
they  landed,  he  said,  "Paul,  I  have  not  had  a  mo- 
ment to  tell  you  that  Ance  is  on  the  mountain. 
I  thought  he  had  followed  me.  He  was  at  my  side 
when  we  saw  we  had  to  leave.  Then  I  heard  him 
say  something,  and  missed  him.  He  is  too  clever 
a  woodman  to  be  caught,  and  I  think  he  will  get 
out.     However,  it  is  as  God  wills." 

"  And  Phely  ?" 

"  Ah,  who  can  say  ?  Don't  cry,  my  boy.  Trouble 
comes  to  us  all.  Look  well  after  your  mother.  And 
if  the  river  seems  too  thick  with  smoke,  don't  re- 
turn for  me ;  don't  venture.  I  will  find  my  way 
down  the  banks.  Good-by,  and  God  keep  and  help 
you!" 

Paul  silently  wrung  his  hand,  and  the  boat  darted 
away  into  the  rolling  smoke. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

When  Ance  turned  back  from  their  downward 
flight,  it  was  with  a  strange  wild  joy  in  his  heart. 
He  had  heard,  with  his  well-trained  sense,  a  human 
cry  in  the  gorge.  Calling  to  Kiverius  to  go  on,  he 
turned  to  the  left  and  bounded  down  the  craggy 
slope  with  a  word  or  two  more  which  escaped  his 
companion.  Then  he  paused.  The  smoke  was 
stifling,  and  far  worse  than  on  the  granite  summit. 
Inland,  where  the  country  fell  away  from  the  moun- 
tain, there  were  for  a  long  distance  only  low  bushes, 
and  the  fire  was  swiftly  sweeping  around  them. 
The  cry  was  heard  again. 

"It's  Phely!  It's  Phely,  for  sure!"  Seeing 
little,  he  dashed  madly  down  the  slope,  gasping  for 
breath  and  beating  the  laurels  aside  as  he  went. 
Ah !  He  had  her  in  his  arms,  a  scared,  sobbing, 
half-choked  little  creature.  Turning,  the  man  fled 
in  haste  up  the  rocks.  On  all  sides  there  was  fire. 
Again  he  ran  up  the  main  mountain-side,  and  at 
last  came  out  on  the  bare  top  at  the  head  of  the  slide. 
He  knew  at  once  that  he  was  trapped,  and  that  soon 
the  fierce  wind,  which  now  and  then  dropped  a 
deluge  of  sparks  around,  and  the  flame  and  smoke 
from  the  southwest,  would  make  life  impossible. 
He  set  the  child  down,  and  for  an  instant  stood 
still  in  perplexity.  The  next  moment  he  turned 
and  stooped  to  see  more  clearly.    A  dozen  axes  lay 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  293 

under  the  log-shoot.  He  drove  one  deep  into  the 
bottom  logs  of  the  slide.  Then  with  furious  energy 
he  dragged  a  piece  of  squared  log,  cut  to  use  in 
mending  the  slide,  up  on  the  short  inclined  plane 
at  its  head.  He  pushed  it  down  until  it  stayed 
against  the  axe.  He  lifted  a  second  timber  and 
slid  it  down  beside  it.  No  man  on  the  broad  Alle- 
ghany but  Ance  could  have  done  the  thing,  nor  he, 
perhaps,  under  other  circumstances.  At  the  upper 
ends  of  the  logs  were  the  auger-holes  bored  to  re- 
ceive  the  spikes  meant  to  bind  them  fast  when 
used.  He  remembered  the  day  he  had  bored  them, 
— the  day  before  he  had  last  seen  Miriam.  He 
could  not  find  the  spikes,  owing  to  the  blinding 
gusts  of  smoke,  but  there  were  axe-helves  at  his 
feet,  and  two  he  drove,  blow  on  blow,  into  the 
auger-holes.  Then  he  ran  back  to  a  lumber-pile, 
groped  about,  and  found  some  ox-harness.  He  cut 
loose  the  hide  traces,  stumbled  back  again,  reeling 
and  half  blinded,  and,  shutting  his  eyes,,  skilfully 
fastened  the  traces  firmly  about  the  axe-helves  so 
as  to  bind  the  two  logs  together.  Next  he  took 
oft'  his  coat,  seized  the  weeping  half-strangled  child, 
and  sat  down  on  the  two  logs  he  had  thus 
united.  For  a  moment  he  looked  about  him. 
There  was  no  fire  visibly  nearer  on  three  sides 
than  two  hundred  yards,  but  as  to  this  he  could 
only  guess  or  see  dimly  as  the  swirling  smoke  per- 
mitted. Certainly  the  bushy,  stone-laden  summit 
was  clear  as  yet.  What  lay  between  him  and  the 
river  he  could  not  tell,  but  above  the  rolling  storm- 
driven  smoke-clouds   there  was   an  ominous   red 


294  FAR  IN  THE  FOREST. 

light.  So  far  he  had  acted  with  remarkable  de- 
cisiveness. The  means  were  familiar;  the  bold 
action  he  contemplated  was  in  accord  with  the 
fearlessness  of  his  character.  As  he  sat  on  the 
logs,  dealing  with  the  slight  hesitation  which  now 
disturbed  his  purpose,  the  gray  smoke  was  dense 
about  him.  His  eyes  watered.  He  could  see  noth- 
ing beyond  a  dozen  feet,  except  the  wavering  glare 
overhead  and  now  and  then  the  lines  of  orange- 
red  the  lightning  cast  athwart  the  sky.  A  few 
large  drops  of  rain  fell.  Should  he  risk  the  ven- 
ture and  stay?  Had  he  been  alone,  this  would 
have  been  his  choice.  He  did  not  underestimate 
the  peril  of  the  other  choice.  He  sat  leaning  for- 
ward, grasping  the  handle  of  the  axe  which  alone 
held  fast  the  logs  beneath  him.  A  fiercer  rush 
of  wind  over  the  hill-top  brought  more  rain,  but, 
striking  the  southwestern  slope,  sent  the  marching 
blaze  of  distorted  spirals  of  crimson  and  yellow 
far  up  into  the  sky.  He  bent  down  and  saw  the 
white  face  of  the  child,  one  cheek  a  fiery  red, 
the  mouth  convulsed.  "  Too  late  !"  he  cried,  and 
quickty  wrapped  his  coat  fold  on  fold  over  the 
child's  face.  Then,  with  one  broad  hand  pressing 
the  garment  firmly  against  Phely's  face,  with  the 
other  he  loosened  the  staying  axe  with  a  quick 
motion  and  cast  it  from  him.  The  timbers  did  not 
move.  He  lifted  himself  and  pushed  at  the  raised 
side  of  the  slide.  They  started.  How  slow,  he 
thought.  Through  the  smoke  which  let  nothing 
be  seen  ten  feet  away  the  great  squared  logs  slid, 
gathering  impetus  as  they  went.     Open-eyed,  half 


FAR  IN  THE  FOREST.  295 

blind,  Ance  stared  ahead.  Quick  and  quicker  they 
shot  through  the  sombre  cloud-darkened  twilight. 
In  a  few  seconds  the  speed  was  awful.  The  trees 
here  and  there  below  them  in  the  gorges  were 
ablaze,  the  heat  intense.  As  he  felt  the  influence 
of  the  single  curve  dangerously  sway  him,  the  man 
fell  back  flat  and  caught  at  the  side  of  the  timber 
he  was  lying  on.  His  hand  was  crushed,  but  they 
were  not  thrown  out.  Then  there  was  a  blinding 
rush,  swift  as  an  eagle's  swoop.  He  clasped  both 
hands  over  the  child's  mouth  and  nose,  gave  one 
fierce  scream  of  torture  as  they  flashed  through 
a  blazing  belt  of  pine  and  birch,  and  instantly 
after,  with  garments  on  fire,  shot  off  the  end  of  the 
slide,  and,  hurled  headlong,  fell  twenty  feet  into 
deep  water.  He  rose  to  the  top  and  lifted  the 
child  above  the  surface.  Was  it  dead?  Would  it 
live  ?  He  knew  not.  The  cool  water  eased  him, 
and  there  was  little  or  no  smoke  on  the  level  of 
the  deep,  comparatively  quiet  pool.  He  could  dimly 
see  lights  on  the  shore.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to 
make  the  land.  He  paused  on  the  edge  as  he 
staggered  out.  Ah !  the  child  was  struggling, 
alive,  crying  wildly.  Then  he  tried  to  shout  for 
help,  but  could  make  only  a  hoarse,  hollow  sound. 
"Why  was  he  so  weak?  Gasping  for  breath,  he 
stumbled  along,  climbed  the  bank,  saw  a  light,  and 
ran  pitching  to  right  and  left  like  one  drunk.  Sud- 
denly he  was  aware  of  a  camp-fire,  voices,  Philetus, 
Rollins,  Paul.  He  saw  no  more,  but  fell  headlong 
at  their  feet,  as  they  started  up,  the  child,  little  the 
worse  for  the  ordeal,  rolling  from  his  grasp. 


296  FAR   IN  THE  FOREST. 

"  My  God  !  he's  saved  it !"  said  Mrs.  Preston,  as 
she  lifted  Phely. 

"  He  is  burnt,"  said  Paul,  as  Rollins  pushed  him 
aside  and  knelt  down  by  Ance  to  examine  him. 

Paul  ran  to  Philetus.  "  She's  saved, — saved !" 
cried  the  boy.  "  Oh,  thank  God,  Philetus,  she's 
saved !     Mother,  bring  her  here." 

The  old  man  stood  still.  "  Where  be  the  maid?" 
he  said. 

"  Here,"  returned  Mrs.  Preston. 

He  took  Phely  in  his  arms,  the  child  still  dazed 
and  crying,  as  he  covered  her  face  with  kisses. 

"  Take  her,  ma'am,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Preston. 
"  Who  saved  her  ?     Who  fetched  her  out  ?" 

"  Ance,"  she  replied. 

"  Heaven  ain't  good  enough  for  that  man.  Take 
me  to  him,"  putting  out  his  hand.  Consider  un- 
derstood him.  "  This  way,  Phil,"  he  said,  and  led 
him  to  Ance,  who  was  lying  near  the  fire,  groaning, 
and  trying  to  speak.     Philetus  knelt  down. 

"  Here,  take  some  whiskey,"  said  Rollins,  lifting 
Vickers's  head.  He  swallowed  a  mouthful,  and 
gave  a  shrill  cry  of  pain,  thrusting  the  cup  away. 

"  He's  burned  in'ardly,"  said  Rollins.  "  Get 
some  water.  Lord !  and  his  face,  too."  The  water 
he  took  with  effort. 

"  Pm  done  for,"  he  moaned,  hoarsely,  opening 
his  eyes  and  groping  about  with  his  sound  hand. 
"  Air  that  you,  Phil  ?" 

"It's  me,  Ance." 

"  Where's  Ryverus  ?" 

"  What's  that  he  says  ?"  cried  Rollins. 


FAR   IN  THE  FOREST.  297 

"  He  wants  Ryverus,"  returned  Philetus.  "  God, 
he  knows.     He  s  a-sayin'  somethin'." 

"  Ryverus !  Fetch  Ryverus  !  Fetch  him  afore 
I  die." 

"  He  isn't  here,"  said  Rollins,  kneeling  beside 
him,  and  greatly  puzzled. 

"  Then  Phil— Phil Where's  Phil  ?    Oh,  my 

God,  my  throat!"  He  spoke  louder,  writhing  in 
anguish.  Phil  bent  over  him,  and  the  hurt  man 
drew  him  closer,  an  arm  under  his  neck. 

"I  done  it,  Phil.  'Twasn't  him.  I  didn't  go 
to.  That's  why  I  got  him  off.  Under  the  stone, 
— under  the  stone  in  the  brook  by  the  blazed 
hickory, — her  apron.  0  Lord,  forgive  me.  You 
jus'  curse  me,  Phil,  and  let  me  die." 

"  He  done  it.  'Twasn't  Ryverus,"  said  Philetus, 
raising  his  clear,  sightless  eyes,  while  speechless 
amazement  fell  for  an  instant  upon  the  listening 
group. 

"  Phil !  Phil !"  said  Ance.  The  blind  man  bent 
down.  "  You  won't  curse  me  ?  I  giv'  you  the 
child." 

"  You  didn't  go  to  hurt  her.  I  ain't  no  harder 
nor  Christ,  Ance,"  And  he  took  the  hand  of  the 
dying  man,  who  lay  gasping,  but  said  no  more. 

Mrs.  Preston  moved  over  to  Rollins.  "  Are  you 
satisfied  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  send  and  get  Mr.  Riverius.    Paul  knows." 

"  Come,  Paul,  Pll  go  myself,"  cried  Rollins. 
"  Come."     And  he  hurried  to  the  boat. 

Those  who  were  left  tried  to  help  the  man  at 


298  FAB    IN   THE   FOREST. 

their  feet,  but  in  vain.  The  red,  scorched  face  moved 
now  and  then,  contorted  by  pain  which  even  the  anaes- 
thesia of  growing  suffocation  could  not  wholly  relieve. 

His  breath  came  and  went,  and  at  times  appeared 
to  have  ceased  forever;  after  each  long  interval  it 
came  again  quicker  and  shorter. 

Elizabeth  Preston  sat  beside  him,  pitiful,  without 
power  to  aid  the  man  who  had  sinned,  suffered,  and 
was  paying  the  death  price  for  the  life  of  the  child 
he  had  saved.  Philetus  leaned  against  a  tree,  self- 
absorbed  and  motionless.  His  little  Ophelia,  wet  and 
scared  into  silence,  lay  at  his  feet,  wrapped  in  a 
blanket,  and  away  from  the  view  of  torment  none 
knew  how  to  lessen.  Over  them  all  hung  a  gray  pall 
of  smoke,  now  thick,  now  thin.  The  flaring  camp- 
fire  lit  this  strange  scene,  where  was  no  sound  save 
the  crackling  of  burning  logs,  the  dull  roar  of  the 
rapids,  and  now  and  then  a  groan  wrung  out  by 
torture  such  as  no  man  can  bear  in  soundless  endur- 
ance. Once  the  dying  man  raised  himself  on  his 
elbows  and  murmured  hoarsely: 

"  Fetch  Ryverus.     Where  is  he  ?  " 

At  last  the  noise  of  clinking  poles  came  up  from 
the  smoke-hidden  stream.  The  group  opened  as 
Riverius,  advancing  with  rapid  steps,  knelt  down  on 
the  sod  beside  Ance. 

"  Do  you  know  me,  Ance  ? " 

A  smile  went  over  the  red  face  on  which  the  Ger- 
man gazed. 

"  Yes,  you're  —  you're  Ryverus." 

"Water,  quick!  water,"  said  Riverius.  He  moist- 
ened the  hot,  black  lips. 


FAB    IX   THE    FOREST.  299 

"  It  is  I,  Ance.    "What  is  it  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

Twice  in  the  effort  to  speak  Ance  failed.  Riverius 
bent  lower  to  catch  what  he  was  trying  to  say. 

"What  is  it,  Ance?" 

"  I  want  to  say  I  clone  it.  I  didn't  go  to  do  it. 
Christ !     I  told  'em.     They  know." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  too  know.  We  all  know.  WTiat  else 
is  there  %  " 

"  I'd  of  liked  to  wrastle  a  fall  with  you." 

Riverius  sat  mute,  holding  the  scorched  hand. 
Ance  drew  a  long  breath.  Those  who  looked  on 
watched  to  see  his  strong  chest  rise  again.  A  minute 
passed.     Riverius  rose. 

"  He  is  dead,"  he  said.     "  God  rest  his  soul !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A  year  and  three  months  had  gone  by  when  Johan 
Riverius  and  his  wife  stood  in  a  terraced  garden 
overlooking  vine-clad  hillsides  and  the  half-seen 
windings  of  a  little  Saxon  river. 

Elizabeth  Preston  had  fonnd  in  the  German  gen- 
tleman the  true  companion  of  a  life  to  be  satisfied 
with  nothing  else  than  the  best  honesties  of  head 
and  heart.  Happiness  and  prosperity  had  enriched 
the  woman  with  a  riper  form,  and  that  serenity  of 
face  without  which  beauty  is  impossible.  So  thought 
the  man  at  her  side. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "there  is  Paul  on  his  pony.  He 
will  ride  well  in  time.  There  is  a  good  soldier  in 
that  boy.     Some  day  my  old  regiment  will  have  him." 

"  No,  no/'  she  said.  "  His  career  will  be  at  home, 
not  here.  I  shall  harden  my  heart  and  bid  him  go 
when  the  time  comes." 

"Ah,  well,"  returned  Riverius,  "the  day  is  not 
yet,  and  to  harden  thy  heart  when  it  comes  —  per- 
haps.    What  of  mine  ?    I  love  the  boy  well." 

The  woman  smiled.  "  I  shall  have  my  way.  I  can 
make  reason  hammer  my  heart  hard  enough  if  there 
be  need.  When  the  time  comes,  Johan,  you  will 
make  it  easy.  I  sometimes  think  I  am  too  indulgent 
with  him  nowadays,  but  love  and  happiness  play 
tricks  with  one's  moral  nature."  She  stood  still,  of  a 
sudden  thoughtful. 


FAB    IN   THE   FOBEST.  301 

"  Ah,  Bess,  Bess,  I  know  that  look !  Now  again  you 
are  thinking  that  once  in  your  life  you  failed  of 
truth." 

"  Yes ;  it  does  not  trouble  me  now,  but  it  does  come 
back  to  my  memory  often,  like  a  ghost  I  do  not  fear, 
but  cannot  get  rid  of." 

"  Would  you  do  it  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  thousand  times." 

"  Then  that  is  enough ;  and  to  comfort  you,  all  the 
casuists  are  on  the  side  of  that  good,  stout  lie.  Let 
the  past  bury  its  dead  sins.  The  graveyard  for  thy 
wicked  memories  need  not  be  large." 

"But,  Johan— " 

"No,  no,"  he  urged,  smiling.  "We  will  talk  of 
more  pleasant  things." 

"  But  I  must  talk.  There  are  things  from  which 
escape  is  not  easy.  Over  and  over  you  have  bid  me 
cease  when  I  have  sorrowed  at  the  thought  of  the 
vast  ruin  I  made  to  save  you.  I  am  grieved,  but  I 
do  not  repent.     I  dream  about  it ;  it  ivill  come  back." 

"  Himmel!  to  be  haunted  this  way  by  all  one's  past 
sins!  I  have  news  for  you  that  should  lay  all  thy 
ghosts.  I  have  waited,  but  to-day  I  can  with  free- 
dom speak.  I  had  to  wait,  and  now  we  will  have  to 
be  economical  for  two  or  three  years." 

"  Why,  Johan  ?  But  that  matters  little.  Economy 
does  not  alarm  me.  What  is  it?  Do  not  keep  me 
waiting.  I  am  —  I  am  a  little  sensitive  just  now. 
Small  things  disturb  me." 

He  turned  and  for  a  moment  considered  her  anx- 
iously. "  What  is  it,  my  dear  ? "  She  looked  to  be  in 
perfect  health. 


302  FAB    IN   THE   FOREST. 

"  Oh,  nothing." 

"  Good !  I  have  paid  Rollins  all,  and  more  than 
all,  the  fire  cost  him.  I  have  left  you  in  debt  to  no 
man.  Consider  Kinsman  is  in  charge  of  the  new 
mill,  with  Rollins  to  oversee  my  affairs.  Poor  old 
Philetns  Richmond  is  cared  for  in  an  asylum  —  a 
hopeless  case;  and  little  Ophelia  the  good  German 
sisters  at  Lilitz  will  educate.     Are  you  satisfied  ?  n 

"Oh,  Johan!  And  I  must  have  troubled  you. 
This  was  what  I  wanted.77 

He  smiled.  "  And  what  interest  am  I  to  have  on 
all  this  money  which  goes  to  settle  your  debts  ? 77 

"  This,77  she  said,  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  flushing 
as  she  told  her  mother-secret. 

"  Only  this  was  wanting,'7  he  said.  "  Thank  God ! 77 
And  he  kissed  her. 


THE  END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

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